Choices and Chances
by azriona
Summary: The TARDIS can’t keep a secret, Sarah Jane can’t keep her mouth shut, Martha can’t believe she’s on the TARDIS, and the Doctor still can’t land accurately. Rose wants to talk to Jackie, except she's being held prisoner...Part 3 of the Crossroads series.
1. Trust the TARDIS

**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**Story Summary**... The Tardis can't keep a secret, Sarah Jane can't keep her mouth shut, Martha can't believe she's traveling through time and space again, and the Doctor still can't land his ship accurately. All of which adds up to Rose desperately wanting to talk to her mother, except there's this small matter of being held prisoner….Part Three of the Crossroads series.

**Chapter One: Trust the Tardis**...Rose is feeling out of sorts, and no one thinks to ask the Tardis why.

**A/N:** Apologies for the wait...postings should occur twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays. Enjoy!

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**Chapter One: Trust the Tardis**

"This," said the Doctor, holding up the instrument in question, "is a sonic screwdriver."

"I know," said Rose patiently. She watched as the Doctor lowered the sonic screwdriver back down to her arm, which glowed bright red and was smoking faintly. It didn't _hurt_, however, which was the important thing – at least, important as far as Rose was concerned – and whatever the Doctor was doing with his precious screwdriver tickled just a bit. Rose squirmed as she sat opposite the Doctor on the apple grass in the TARDIS garden. After two years of traveling with him, she was more of an equal than she'd been in the very early days – but even so, there were times he'd still get rather uppity. Like now.

"It can be used to do all sorts of useful things, such as open doors, uncork champagne, weld metals together, or take them back apart again. One could use it to provide light, amplify sound, and in a pinch, put up shelving."

"Fascinating."

It _was_ fascinating, in a way, watching the screwdriver do its work on her arm, slowly growing less red, slowly regaining feeling (bit of pain, at first, then the tickling, then like new). Sometimes it frightened Rose, how much she didn't actually know, even if she knew a lot. She knew about half the settings on the screwdriver off the top of her head. She knew maybe a quarter of the settings on the cellular modifier. She knew all twenty settings of the highly-advanced watch she wore on her wrist (which also told basic vital signs, weather, and the current rugby scores). She could even navigate the TARDIS on short hops, as long as they didn't involve the Time Vortex.

There were other things Rose had learned. The Doctor snored when he slept. His feet were ice-cold. He was an _extremely_ good kisser, more so when he was touching her bare skin, even more so when they were both lying down. Even Time Lords don't have endless stamina, much to her disappointment (and relief, sometimes, it must be said). As much as he liked her _in_ bed, he liked her out of it, too, possibly more. In bed, afterwards, when they were lying in each other's arms, he had a smile on his face, even in sleep. (That was another thing – he always slept afterwards, even if it was only five minutes, and he was possessive enough to hold her the entire time.) But the only time Rose ever saw the manic grin that made her hearts melt was when they were on a planet running for their lives. Those were the days when Rose wondered if the Doctor saw her less as the adventure and more the calm after the storm.

("That's what you are, Rosie," Jack would have said, "you're the Calm in the Eye of the Oncoming Storm.")

She didn't feel calm. She'd been promised Will Shakespeare for two years running, and every time they landed in Elizabethan England, the Doctor found another excuse not to leave the TARDIS. This time, the rain was so thick that the roads had turned to deep puddles of mud, and the Doctor had misplaced his galoshes. The ridiculous excuse annoyed Rose, which led to a tussle, which resulted in her slipping the screwdriver out of his pocket. She might have convinced him to go without the blasted galoshes too, if the screwdriver hadn't blasted backwards, burning her arm to a crisp and throwing her back against the jump seat.

The Doctor continued his lecture, enjoying himself immensely. "But one of the _few_ things one should never do with a sonic screwdriver, Rose, is use it to threaten its owner with disembowelment. It can backfire quite rapidly."

"I noticed," said Rose dryly. "Lesson learned. May I get up now?"

"I'm not done cauterizing your arm. Did I mention it also performs basic skin repair? Lucky your burns weren't any more severe, I would have had to take you to the medical bay."

"And you _do_ so like to play doctor," sighed Rose. "_Ow_, that pinches."

"You nearly lost your entire arm, of course it pinches. Sit still. Now, Rose, repeat after me. I will not use the Doctor's screwdriver against him."

"I will not use the Doctor's screwdriver against him."

"Good girl."

"But you deserved it."

"Do you really want to drown in mud?"

"You _promised_ me Will Shakespeare. And it doesn't matter, does it, because now you're going to say we should wait until my arm's fully healed."

"Which it is." The Doctor pocketed the screwdriver and flashed her a grin. Rose immediately brightened and clutched at his sleeve.

"You're done?"

"One last kiss—" He leaned over and dropped a kiss on her nose. "All better, good as new, up you get. Stop lazing about – the play starts in an hour, and if you have any hope of standing next to the stage we had to leave five minutes ago." He popped up and offered her his hands to help her to her feet.

"_Stand_? Are you too cheap to – _oh_." Rose tumbled back to the ground. "My head's gone whirly."

The Doctor was on his knees in a flash. "Rose – breathe, love. You got up too fast."

"No, I—" The nausea rolled through her like a wave, and she held her breath and pursed her lips together tightly. She felt the Doctor reach for her hand. Rose was suddenly conscious of how clammy she felt, how very _not well_, and quickly laid down on her side. The grass pressed against her cheek, just a bit rough and scratchy, but she didn't care, clinging to the discomfort on her face because at least it wasn't her stomach.

"Rose? Rose!" The Doctor fumbled for the superwatch strapped to her wrist; Rose knew he looked for her blood pressure and temperature.

It was habit by now for them to touch the other's cheek, as a way of asking permission before opening the telepathic link between them. Rose had initiated it two years before, when they'd discovered that the crossroads had given her this telepathic ability, and they very rarely went without the ritual – in fact, it had only been twice they'd ignored it. The first time had been when the Deathsmiths had captured them, and the Doctor had let Rose see through his eyes. The second was only a few months before, when Rose was trapped by the Sontarans, and needed to show the Doctor where she was being held.

It was a simple request Rose had at the moment. So simple he wouldn't think of it on his own. She felt horrible opening the link without going through the proper (if self-proscribed) ritual, but she could think of nothing else to do. At the moment, she couldn't open her mouth without the possibility of being sick. Just as she pushed the outer reaches of her silvery-turquoise thoughts towards his own purple mind, she felt the ground beneath her cheek vibrate as the Doctor leapt to his feet.

"_Crackers_!" he shouted, and ran out of the garden.

Rose stayed very still in the grass, wondering. Their thoughts hadn't actually touched, so either she had thought about crackers harder than she'd intended, or the Doctor was becoming more – well, not _observant_, but at least intuitive. Rose shivered, just a bit, and felt the ground beneath her growing steadily warmer.

The Doctor was back in minutes. "Cracker?" he offered, settling the cracker in her hand, and she began to nibble carefully, swallowing it in bits. "Rose?"

"Hello," she whispered, opening her eyes a little, and was glad her head didn't spin. The Doctor was flat on his stomach, his chin resting on the backs of his hands. He watched her with eagle eyes, and broke into a grin.

"Hello. Had me worried there."

"Me too. How—" She stopped for a moment as another wave of nausea rolled, and then took another bite, chewing slowly. She wiggled the cracker at him.

"Oh," said the Doctor, looking a bit surprised himself. "The TARDIS told me."

"The TARDIS?"

"Shouted it, really. The kitchen was right across the corridor, she must have moved it closer." He frowned. "Is it me, or is the ground warmer?"

"I shivered," explained Rose.

"She made the ground warmer too?" The Doctor pushed himself up to his knees. "I knew she liked you, but she must be quite worried to go to this much trouble. Rose—"

Rose sighed. "No Will Shakespeare."

"Not today. As soon as you can stand, we're going to the medical bay, which, if I am not very much mistaken, I suspect we will find across the corridor to replace the kitchen."

"Good TARDIS," said Rose, patting the grass. "Very sweet of you, but don't kill my apple grass just to keep me warm."

"She'll take very good care of your apple grass. I wonder if you caught a cold on Tythonus?"

"I didn't feel sick until I tried to stand."

"And now?"

"I want to finish my cracker."

"Stop talking then, and finish your cracker."

"Stop asking me questions, and I'll stop talking and finish my—" Another wave of nausea hit, and Rose quickly took another bite, trying not to watch the Doctor's half worried, half triumphant expression.

"Story," she mumbled through bites, and he rocked back a little.

"Ah, story. Once, there was a handsome and dashing young Time Lord who was cruelly imprisoned on a desperately backward and mundane planet called Earth."

Rose snickered.

"Hush and chew. Now, this was before the noble young Time Lord had heard of the dastardly group known as Torchwood—"

Rose managed a hiss, and he grinned.

"But instead had joined his valiant forces with the exalted denizens of U.N.I.T. Lovely group of people, really. And this would be the story of how the Time Lord saved the London Underground—"

"Heard it."

"Have not."

"Have too. Yetis. Brain drain. Jamie and Victoria."

"Oh." The Doctor frowned. "Vampires on the moon?"

"Heard it."

"10 Downing Street?"

"Was there."

"Loch Ness Monster?"

"Sarah Jane wants to tell me."

"Every time you and Sarah Jane meet, you end up laughing at me."

"That's because you're funny."

"Are you done with your cracker yet?"

"Yes."

"Can you stand up?"

"Maybe."

He sighed, and slid an arm under her shoulders. "Never mind – I'll carry you. Stronger than I look, you know."

The Doctor was right – the medical bay was across the corridor from the garden, though it usually was several hundred meters away. Even so, it felt too far to Rose, who didn't like being carried by anyone, even the Doctor. Especially the Doctor – he was liable to forget he was carrying her, and knock her head into a doorframe. This time, however, he managed to get her into the medical bay unscathed. The Doctor set Rose down on a cot and brushed the hair back from her face, smiling tenderly at her. She tried to smile back, but he had already turned away to collect the syringe.

"The number of blood samples you take from me, I'd think _you_ were the vampire on the moon," she grumbled.

"Blood tells," said the Doctor, strapping the elastic on her arm. "And I haven't taken any blood from you in a year, at least. Look away, Rose."

She closed her eyes and grimaced. "Horrible process, highly advanced species, and you can't find a better way to collect blood. I hate needles."

"Tell me about that Elizabethan gown in the Wardrobe."

It was distraction, pure and simple, and Rose knew it. But considering he was wielding a needle and had every intention of using it, she didn't care. "Oh, lovely, all gold and shimmery, with red piping down the seams and blue flowers all stitched in. And green, and there's a bit of filmy white down the front where the skirt splits open, like you can see the petticoats, and you should _see_ the petticoats, they're even more gorgeous, green and amber and—"

She heard the elastic snap. "All done."

Rose exhaled. "Good, I was about to run out of dress."

The Doctor took the vial of blood and began setting up a slide. "Not with _that_ dress. You've talked it up so often that if you ever do wear it, I'm sure to be disappointed. Could you read off your vitals for me?"

Rose pressed the face on her watch. "Heart rate, 164. Blood pressure, 180 over 95—"

He frowned. "Bit high, even for you."

"Not so much. Oh, temperature – 25."

He glanced up from the slide. "That _is_ high, you're usually steady at 22."

Rose looked up from her watch, her nose crinkling in confusion. "I don't feel as though I'm running a temperature. Certainly not three entire degrees! Apart from the dizziness, I feel fine. Perfectly well. Let's-go-see-a-play well, as a matter of fact." She swung her legs off the cot, but just before she could jump off, the TARDIS gave a little rock, and Rose fell back.

"Careful!" snapped the Doctor, more to the ship than to Rose. He glanced at her, lying wide-eyed on the cot. "All right?"

"What did she do _that_ for?" asked Rose, hurt. "She was so good to me earlier."

"She doesn't want you leaving either. Sit tight and let me look at this slide."

Rose watched the Doctor pull out his glasses and peer through the microscope, the frown forming on his lips. She nibbled on another cracker while she waited – for all that she'd felt sick before, she was suddenly ravenously hungry now. Perhaps dinner would be in order when he was done. Surely if she couldn't see Shakespeare, he'd at least let her out to find somewhere to eat? There were chip shops in 16th century England, weren't there?

"Doctor, are there chip shops?"

"Hmm?"

"Chip shops. Or even a pub would do. I'm hungry."

"Rose, you nearly fainted in the garden, I think now is not the best time to consider your next meal."

"But I'm _hungry_, and I can't survive on crackers. Do they have hamburgers and chips in the 16th century?"

The Doctor didn't answer – his face rapidly drained of color, much like her own must have done before, Rose thought. His mouth dropped open, and he looked up from the microscope at her, and then back down again.

"Doctor?"

"Rose."

"What is it?"

"Rose." He seemed incapable of saying much else.

"Oh no – the nanogenes – it's not being reversed—" But Rose's words trailed off as she looked into the crevices of the medical bay. "The nanogenes – they didn't come out."

"No, they didn't," said the Doctor. Rose wondered if he was in shock.

"That means – I'm not sick. They would have fixed me, if I'd been sick."

"Right you are."

"So if I'm not sick – what am I?"

The Doctor swallowed. "Pregnant."


	2. How It Happens

**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**Chapter Two: How it Happens**... The differences between Gallifreyan and Human physiology have never been quite so daunting as this.

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**Chapter Two: How it Happens**

The faint hum from the TARDIS rolled like laughter. Rose had the distinct feeling that the TARDIS was laughing at _them_, possibly because she'd already known, and was amused that it'd taken them so long to figure it out. No wonder she'd been so quick to take charge with the crackers, keeping Rose in the cot, and all the rest. In the very back of her mind, Rose had the distinct impression that the TARDIS was already planning a nursery, to be located somewhere near the bedroom she and the Doctor had claimed as their own.

Rose shoved the TARDIS out of her head, not caring a whit if it was rude, and stared at the Doctor. "Say that again."

"Your blood – it's loaded with hormones, Rose. It's also showing increased antibodies, which might have been attributed to the burns on your arm, but these are specifically calibrated against certain attacks which could be made on the fetus – although really, it's not a _fetus_ so much as a zygote. Those are before fetus. You don't get fetus until later on in the process, and you can't be far along because otherwise you would have noticed it yourself, so zygote. Although I _suppose_ it could be an embryo at this stage—"

"Doctor."

"Rose?"

"Stop babbling."

He swallowed. "Right. No more babbling."

Rose took a breath. "Pregnant."

"Yep." His voice was oddly blank, as if he were in shock, which, Rose thought, he probably was, right up that alley with her. Shock, or—

Rose damned the protocols, and opened the telepathic lines, shoving her thoughts over his in a single swift move. He didn't resist, just kept staring at her like she'd sprouted another head. (Did zygotes have heads? Maybe she _had_.) What she found there might have scared her under other circumstances, but now she breathed a sigh of relief.

The Doctor sighed with relief at the same time she did, and quickly walked over to join her at the cot. He reached to brush her hair back from her face, his fingers ghosting over her cheek while his forehead knocked gently against hers.

"You're numb too?" she asked softly.

"Didn't think – I mean, I suppose we _knew_ it was going to happen someday, but—"

"Of course we knew, you showed me before, the two of us walking down a path and a boy and girl playing in the apple grass."

"I was only guessing, really, I didn't know. Well, I knew it was a possibility, but the details were make-believe. Haven't really given it much thought since then. But you – are you all right?"

Rose thought for a minute. "I think so. Mostly I'm numb. I'm glad you're numb too, I thought for a minute maybe you were upset."

"No. Not upset," he said, and leaned in to kiss her. His hand stilled just behind her ear as his lips touched her own. Rose sat up a bit straighter, bringing her hands up to rest against his chest, suddenly grateful that he wasn't angry, or upset, or otherwise bursting into busy bouncing from one end of the room to the other, too anxious to know what to do with himself. This quiet, introspective Doctor was a much better option, even if he was as confused and afraid as she felt herself.

Rose also didn't mind the snog. He almost struck her as shy, he was going about the business so tenderly and carefully, as if she was made of glass, and all this did was make her terribly, terribly desperate for him to get over his hesitation and just rip off her shirt. She was about to do it herself, when the Doctor started to grin.

"You're pregnant."

"Don't stop," groaned Rose, snaking her hand to the back of his neck to pull him closer.

"_Rose_," he insisted. "Do you know what this means?"

"In nine months, baby."

"Ah – fourteen, actually."

Rose pulled back to stare at him properly. "_Fourteen_?"

"Ah—"

"_Fourteen_?"

"They'll fly right by?" he suggested weakly, and she crossed her arms.

"This did _not_ come up in the discussion of how Gallifreyan physiology is different from Human."

"I'd only just gotten you back, Rose, what would you have thought if I'd tacked that in with the change of body temperature and the double hearts?"

"I would have slapped you."

"Exactly."

"You would have _deserved_ it."

"Which is why I didn't say anything!"

"You could have mentioned it a _year_ ago, when pregnancy actually _became_ a possible outcome."

"Oh, that would have gone tremendously well. Laying in each other's arms, Oi, Rose, hope you're not planning on running any marathons in the next fourteen months?"

Rose began to smile, despite herself. "You couldn't think of a better way of phrasing it?"

"It wasn't foremost in my mind, no!"

"Bloody Time Lord," she sighed, and he grinned at her.

"All right, then, here, I'll do it properly." He took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb inside the palm, which had the same effect as always – Rose sighed and half-closed her eyes. "Rose, there are certain differences between Gallifreyan and Human bodies which I think you should hear."

The problem with hand rubs was that Rose lost all ability to function on a rational level. And the Doctor _knew_ it. "'Kay."

"The first, and this is most important, Gallifreyan physiology is far more complex than a Human's. Two hearts, the respiratory by-pass system, and a slightly larger brain."

Rose opened her eyes a little. "That sounds vaguely insulting."

"Hush, love. Nothing personal, just the facts." He pressed his thumb harder in her palm, and her eyes closed again. "The brain itself is a little more complex as well, plenty going on in there, and all these advanced systems obviously require a longer gestation time in order to allow the fetus to properly mature before birth."

"You weren't born," mumbled Rose, remembering. "Looms."

"That's right, love, Looms. But once, a very long time ago, all Gallifreyans were born. Susan was born, remember."

Her eyes opened. "How do you know all this? If it was so long ago?"

He hesitated, just a bit. "All right – maybe I read up on it in the library, when I was done with the DNA testing."

"There's a book in the library?"

"That's what makes it a library, Rose, lots of books."

She shoved him again. "I want to read it. Later."

"Hardly fun reading material, but have at it. Pregnancy is divided into five relatively even stages, each just under three months long. The first and the second stages are very much like a human pregnancy – you start off with a few cells, and then there's a zygote, which grows into an embryo by the end of the first stage – bit slower than in humans, where this process takes only a few weeks. The heart starts beating during the second stage, and the brain begins to mature faster – looks like a lopsided tomato. There's some minor telepathic sensations toward the end of the first stage, and this is intensified in the second—"

"Telepathy?" Rose watched him, the way his eyes were beginning to glow as he talked – lectured, really – and she wondered just how many times he'd read the chapter on Gallifreyan pregnancies.

"The text said sensations, no more explanation than that. And I've never met a pregnant Gallifreyan, so I can't expound. The third stage is mostly the respiratory system, which results in less tomato and more butternut squash, the fourth stage expands on the brain functions, and the fifth stage is nothing but general growth, much like a human third trimester. Thus, longer gestation, averaging fourteen months. Which all says that about a year from now—"

"Baby," said Rose softly, her voice sounding odd to her, as if it was stretched very thin. The Doctor eyed her carefully and nodded.

"Baby." He touched her hair again. "Rose—"

Rose closed her eyes, shaking her head just a little. Her hearts had started aching, just a little, and there was a knot in her stomach. "I'm – it's okay. Only – this morning I was going to Will Shakespeare, and now I'm going to be pregnant for the next year and I think the TARDIS knew before you and you knew before me and that's not fair! I don't understand why I'm upset because I wanted to have a baby, but that was _later_, and I should have been the one to tell you and not the other way around, and – _I want my mother!_"

Rose burst into tears, and the Doctor immediately squeezed her hand and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Oh, Rose."

Rose continued to cry, not understanding quite why, or noticing when the TARDIS lowered the lights in the medical bay to a dim glow. "It's stupid, isn't it? She wouldn't be able to help, really, she doesn't know any more than I do about Gallifreyan pregnancies or how to take care of alien babies—"

"She's your mother."

"I just want her to tell me it'll be all right," sniffed Rose.

"Rose, it _will_ be all right."

"Doesn't count, from you." She opened her eyes and saw the hurt in his face, and squeezed his hand. "I mean – it's not the same."

"I know," he said, a little stiffly, but he didn't move away. "I can't offer you your mum, Rose, but we can go see Sarah Jane. Or Martha. She's got her doctorate now, Dr. Martha, it might be a good idea, really. They aren't Jackie, I know, but they're someone who isn't me. Will that be all right?"

She sniffed again and nodded, just a little. "Maybe later. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"No, I could feel the excitement poking up in your head, and then I had to go all waterworks on you."

"Pregnancy hormones, the one constant between all species," said the Doctor, smiling a little. "I can move you to the bedroom, if you like."

"I'm pregnant, not a paraplegic," she retorted. "Is morning sickness also a pregnancy constant?"

"Not across the universe, but in this case, yes."

"Lucky me. Is there _anything_ good a Gallifreyan pregnancy has that a human one doesn't?"

"If I understood the extremely dry and obtuse text I was reading, there ought to be some sort of telepathic link between you and the baby after the second month or so. Sensations at first, and then later, direct communication. That won't be until after the second stage, say the fifth month or so."

"You too?"

"Even later than that, and only if you let me."

"Of course." Suddenly, Rose was very glad she was sitting down – the Doctor's expression changed entirely, from one of concern and veiled anticipation, to complete and total excitement. She saw the grin on his face previously only seen when running from danger, and for a moment, he shone.

"Baby," he said, with no small amount of glee.

"Baby," she agreed, much softer, and he caught her in a hug, lifting her from the cot and swinging her around. The lights in the medical bay blinked, and he laughed, setting her down on her feet.

"The TARDIS thinks I should be more careful with you."

"I'm not made of _glass_. And I think she's already planning a nursery."

"Early days for that. Should I set a course for Martha?"

Rose was about to tell him yes, when the TARDIS bells began to ring, signaling that the crossroads was safe to ring Jackie. Rose's face immediately brightened, and she patted her pockets, looking for her mobile. "Mum!"

"Do you want me to leave you to it?" asked the Doctor.

Rose shook her head, and settled on a nearby chair. The Doctor pulled another over and sat nearby, his knees touching hers. She smiled at him, a bit hesitant. He was generally affectionate, always had been, but in the last half hour, since she'd nearly collapsed in the garden, he hadn't seemed to stop touching her, every few minutes. There was a sense of wonder in his expression she didn't quite recognize from before. It was a bit as though he regarded her as a goddess, and Rose wasn't sure she liked it.

"Rose!" said Jackie through the line, which barely crackled at all. "Lovely timing, dear, I'm right downtown, isn't the connection fine?"

"What are you doing downtown?"

"School shopping for the twins, of course, and picking up a prezzie for the birthday party next week."

"Birthday?"

"Oh, Rose, don't tell me you've forgotten already – Mickey's little girl Anna-Rose, she's going to be two next week. Such a doll. You have Mickey's mobile, don't you? You should give him a ring on the day, he'd be pleased, and you know Anna-Rose loves to hear your voice."

Rose's breath caught. "Of course. One week – I'll remember."

"Seems like only yesterday she just learning to sit up, doesn't it? And now she's two."

"I don't know about yesterday – maybe last month," said Rose, trying to stifle the nervous laughter. "But enough about Anna-Rose, tell me about Pete. Is his leg healing up?"

"Oh, _Pete_," said Jackie, full of pleasure in her annoyance, and rattled on for another five minutes about her husband and his accident with the ladder. Rose held onto the mobile with both hands, knowing her mother's voice was loud enough that the Doctor could hear it, and for the first time, yearning for the static to cut in. The Doctor's eyes were on her, wide and sympathetic, and she had the feeling he knew exactly what was bothering her, without any sort of telepathy necessary.

"Oh, that's the static," sighed Jackie finally. "Love you, Rose, sweetheart. Tell that Doctor to take care of you."

"He does," Rose said, looking at him. "I love you, Mum, twins and Pete too."

"And don't forget Anna-Rose's birth—" The line broke into static, and Rose slowly flipped the mobile closed.

"I can't tell her," she said dully. "The baby won't be born for a year, you said. That's four years for Mum. I can't let Mum think I'm pregnant for four years. There's a lot of things she understands, but I don't think this is one of them."

"I'm sorry."

Rose sniffed and straightened her back. "No," she said firmly. "I'm not going to cry about it. I _won't_. So I'm pregnant and I can't have my mum, and I can't even _tell_ my mum, not for months. I won't cry – I _won't_."

It didn't help; she burst into tears. She didn't argue when the Doctor picked her up and cuddled her against his chest. He kissed her eyes and forehead and nose and cheeks as he carried her to their bedroom and tucked her into the bed. She cried as he crawled behind her, wrapped his arms around her and continued to kiss her gently, until her chest and throat and eyes hurt from the sobs, and she thought she felt him move from the bed as she fell asleep. She reached for him then, blindly, suddenly afraid, and grasped his hand.

"Where?" she asked, meaning to ask where he was going, but he answered a different question entirely.

"Somewhere safe," and on those words, she fell asleep.


	3. Trust Sarah Jane

**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**Chapter Three: Trust Sarah Jane**... She's the next-best thing to Jackie Tyler, really. No, really!

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**Chapter Three: Trust Sarah Jane**

Rose woke to the gentle sound of the TARDIS humming. It took a moment before she remembered where she was, and another moment to remember why. Her hand, clenched tight around the sheet, crept down to rest on her stomach. She didn't _feel_ pregnant, but all the same, she had no doubt that somewhere beneath her fingers, there was a tiny bit of something forming, some small miracle happening, a knot unwinding and stretching its new-formed limbs.

Rose let out her breath slowly, unevenly. There was still the powerful need to tell her mother, and the equally reasonable logic why she shouldn't. It made her uneasy.

Rose pushed herself up, hand still on her stomach. She didn't want to move it just yet. She was still wearing the clothes from that morning, minus her shoes and jeans, and her bra was beginning to chafe a little. She rubbed her eyes, and brushed back her hair – which was when she realized she wasn't alone. In the corner of the room, curled up in a chair with a book, sat Sarah Jane Smith.

"_Sarah_," said Rose, and Sarah Jane looked up from her book.

"Ah, you're awake. How do you feel?"

"Tired."

"Stands to reason, you've been asleep far too long. The Doctor landed you here seven hours ago, and he said you'd slept the entire way." Sarah Jane closed her book and leaned toward Rose. "I should tell you first, he's not in the TARDIS. I sent him into town with Luke, partially because I needed some spare bits for Mr. Smith, partially because the attic door is sticking and he's enough of a man to think he can fix anything, partially because if I didn't give him some sort of project, he'd still be here hovering over you like a worried sparrow."

Rose nodded, her head still fuzzy from sleep. "A pinstriped sparrow."

"The very same. Luke knows to keep him away as long as possible, Luke's brilliant at that sort of thing. They'll be gone for hours, which is quite perfect, because it'll give you and I a chance to talk without interference." Sarah Jane hesitated a moment. "If you like, that is. I'm presuming you want to talk at all, really."

"Do you—" Rose's fingers contracted just a bit on her stomach, still below the covers where Sarah Jane might not have been able to see. "Did the Doctor tell you why we came here?"

"Not in so many words, but I can make a reasonable guess," said Sarah Jane dryly. "I'll never be able to repeat what he said – your Doctor does go on – but he said it was something you couldn't tell your mother, and he thought you needed a feminine ear, as apparently his doesn't suit."

"I'm pregnant," Rose blurted out, and watched Sarah Jane carefully for her reaction.

Sarah Jane, to her everlasting credit, did not immediately break into a grin, or burst into congratulations. Instead, cool as a cucumber, and without a waver in her voice, she simply said, "Oh, Rose. Come here."

As soon as Sarah Jane lifted her arms, Rose was off the bed and in them. She burst into tears again, and felt herself being rocked by the closest thing to a mother she was likely to have for a very long time. Sarah Jane played the role perfectly: she clucked, patted Rose's back, and rested her cheek on her head. When Rose finally pulled away, cheeks hot, Sarah Jane lifted her chin.

"I'm so glad it was _you_ who told me, and not the Doctor. He makes a right mess of everything, sometimes, doesn't he? But he brought you here, so we'll give him a little credit. How long have you known?"

"An hour before I fell asleep."

"Too soon, then. I'm honored. Up you get, and take a blistering hot shower – it won't harm the baby, I promise – and meet me in my kitchen, and we'll have tea. Are you hungry? No, silly of me, doesn't matter, you'll eat something too, like it or lump it. The TARDIS is parked in my back garden, so it's just a short little walk and you're there. Do you good to have a fresh bit of scenery, I think. The TARDIS is a lovely old bird but everyone needs something new to see sometimes. Twenty minutes and I'm coming after you."

Sarah Jane patted Rose's shoulders one last time, and left Rose to pull herself off the floor and make her way into the shower. It helped – the shower washed away the fuzzy feeling she'd woken with, and Rose chose her favorite shirt and her best jeans, which gave her a confidence she only pretended to have. Sarah Jane's back garden sounded prettier than it really was – Sarah Jane was obviously not the type of person to spend her days growing flowers. Still, the fresh air, as soon as it hit her lungs, grounded Rose, and she breathed in deeply a few times before continuing into the house, where she found Sarah Jane setting out the tea in a bright white kitchen.

"Thank you," said Rose meekly, and Sarah Jane nodded briskly as she set a plate of sandwiches and biscuits on the table.

"It's what I do. I ought to have started a support group, really – Friends of the Doctor's. FOD. What a horrible acronym, LINDA was much better. Now sit down, drink your tea, and tell me as much as you want to tell."

Rose sat at the table and curled her fingers around a warm mug. "You – you don't mind?"

"Why would I mind?" said Sarah Jane, almost laughing. "I suspect I'll want to hear every last detail. Well, not _every_ last, you know what I mean."

"But – it's the Doctor's."

Rose almost wished she had a camera to record the expression on Sarah Jane's face then. "Well, _goodness_, Rose. You're sleeping in the same bed. If it was anyone else's I'd have hardly made you tea."

"I mean – you loved him."

Sarah Jane smiled and sipped at her tea. "Once. Maybe. But he wasn't _your_ Doctor then."

Rose blinked. "I'm not this slow, honestly, I'm not. My mind can't seem to function properly, ever since he told me I was pregnant, but—"

"Wait – _he_ told _you_?"

"Yes."

"Show-off," muttered Sarah Jane. "I hope he didn't say if it was a boy or girl?" Rose shook her head, almost smiling. "Good. Don't you let him find out, that cheeky Time Lord. Let him not know something for once."

"I think the TARDIS knew before either of us."

"Quite right, she's supposed to know those things. Unless she told him?" Rose shook her head again, and sipped at her tea. She could feel the warmth going down into her stomach, radiating out to every limb. "Still. He had no right to tell you. That ought to be yours to tell him."

"I didn't know, anyway. I don't think I _would_ have known – ever since the nanogenes, I haven't – ah – been regular." Rose buried her face in the tea again, glancing warily up at Sarah Jane, who didn't look the least bit shocked, just thoughtful.

"Bit too soon to ask what you think about it."

Rose shrugged a little. "I suppose. I think – I don't quite believe it, really."

"Is it – oh, I shouldn't be asking, but I will. Is this something you wanted, Rose?"

Rose swirled the tea in her cup, watching it come closer and closer to the rim. "I had this idea, you know? The sort you think about when you're young and stupid and you believe the world is a great magical romantic place. That a handsome prince would sweep me off my feet, and carry me away from reality, and we'd end up happily ever after, kids and grandkids and puppies and all. Except as it turned out, the prince and his steed was a Doctor and his TARDIS, the happily seems to depend on if we're running for our lives at the moment, and the ever after – well, it's really ever. I mean, _really_ ever, a really long ever. The thought of having to run for our lives with a baby in tow, or two, or three, it's not exactly labeled under 'happy'."

"I think you can trust the Doctor not to take you or the baby into a dangerous situation," said Sarah Jane dryly.

"It's not like he has a choice all the time – half the time when you were with him, I'll bet the trip began as just a little vacation, no worries, and then bam, you're running for your life and hoping whoever's chasing you gets cramp in their leg."

Sarah Jane shook her head. "Touche. All right then, don't think about what you dreamed of when you were little. Don't think of what you expected when you came back. Tell me, right now, this moment – are you happy?"

Rose looked out the window, to the TARDIS sitting in the shade of the tree. "I think," she said slowly, "I think I'm happy about it. The baby. It's a little distant, not really real. I'm tired, the idea of eating anything more than crackers puts me off for some reason, but I don't really feel like I ought to be pregnant."

"I wouldn't know," said Sarah Jane. "I skipped quite a bit, adopting Luke."

"Are you sorry?"

"Oh, maybe a little. Mostly not, especially when I see screaming babies and their harried mothers in the corner store. I don't envy you dirty nappies, either. For you, though – do you think it's a good thing?"

"Oh, probably. I don't know about me. For the Doctor – oh, it's the best thing in the world for him, isn't it? To not be the last Time Lord. That pleases him more than anything, I think. Not like it's a real beginning – just one baby. You can't really recreate an entire race with one baby. What happens in twenty years, when this baby wants babies? Who will he have them with? It's only perpetuating a dead end."

Sarah Jane shook her head. "Things have a way of working out, Rose."

"Counting chickens," sighed Rose. "I'm always counting chickens, and now I'm doing it for a baby whose heart hasn't even started to beat."

"Just being a mother. I do the same with Luke, worry about ten years down the line instead of whether or not he remembered to take his lunch to school."

Rose spoke suddenly without thinking. "If I'm pregnant, it makes it all real."

Sarah Jane gave her a cursory look then. "What's that?"

Rose bit her lip – she hadn't meant to say it aloud, but now that it was out— "It's too easy to pretend sometimes, that it's all just an odd dream, and I'm still nineteen and we haven't been to Canary Wharf, and the last two years of me being here, and the five years with Mum and Pete in the other world, they're just a day-dream. Maybe I'm just pretending that there was blue custard that made me something other than human, and I really do only have the one heart, and nothing's changed, not really."

"Some things have," said Sarah Jane, with a pointed glance. "Or I'll have to restructure my opinion of your honor, Miss Rose."

Rose blushed. "Oh. Well, it's not like I'm exactly comparing _then_ and _now_, not then, am I? And maybe that's just part of the very nice dream."

"Only very nice? I'm disappointed."

Rose set down her mug. "If the baby is real – it makes it _all_ real, don't you see? It means I really won't see my mother again, and I'm really not human any longer – and it means…" She took a breath. "Forever is real too. I said I'd stay with him forever. And if that's real – forever is such a long time."

"Rose—"

"It's not that I don't still _want_ forever," said Rose quickly. "But – so much can happen in forever. It's too much time. More than I thought I'd ever have, _decades_ more. Everything will have changed by the time I really do finally die, everyone I know will have died before me, the world will be entirely different, including me. And how will I know that I fit in forever? What if I hate it? Does anyone really want to live so long that everything you recognize has turned to dust?"

For a moment, Sarah Jane was at loss for words, and Rose sat back again, arms wrapped protectively around herself. It was more than she'd meant to say – more than she'd really thought about before, too, but upon saying it, she'd felt instantly better, and the words were _right_, once spoken.

"That depends," said Sarah Jane finally, and Rose looked up to see her serious expression. "Do I have a hangover, in this forever of yours? Because if so, then I'll pass."

Rose wasn't sure if Sarah Jane was being serious or not. Her expression and tone was perfectly calm and rational, but there was a small quirk on one side of her mouth, and Rose instantly responded, trying not to laugh.

"All right – a forever with no hangover. And first-class tickets to anywhere you'd care to go."

"Ah, there you have me," declared Sarah Jane, and reached for a sandwich, which reminded Rose that they existed. "And plenty of tea."

"Ah, sorry, no tea," said Rose. She bit into the sandwich; it didn't taste half awful, and Rose wondered if she dared risk having another bite, or if the nausea would return.

Sarah Jane sighed. "No tea? Is there at least sticky toffee pudding?"

"Oh, yes, and it doesn't even make you gain an ounce. But nothing on the telly but reruns of Blue Peter."

"You're too hard, Rose Tyler," accused Sarah Jane, shaking her sandwich at the girl. "Could I at least have Daniel Craig to keep me company?"

"Not the Doctor?"

"Oh, he's your Doctor, not mine. And really, all I'd want in forever is Luke. Forever isn't so bad if you can share it with someone you care about."

"No," said Rose, thoughtfully. "I don't suppose it is. But—"

"No, Rose," said Sarah Jane firmly. "No buts. Forever, with the Doctor, and as many additions as you see fit. And sticky toffee pudding. What do you think?"

Rose smiled, suddenly deciding she was ravenous. "Sarah Jane?"

"Yes?"

"Do you _have_ any sticky toffee pudding?"

Sarah Jane grinned at her and was at the refrigerator in a flash, pulling out a small package wrapped in foil and plastic. "My weakness! I'll pop it in the microwave and it'll be ready in moments. You'll eat every bite, now – for the next nine months, you're eating for two."

"Fourteen months."

Halfway through unwrapping the pudding, Sarah Jane froze. "Fourteen?"

"The Doctor says Gallifreyan pregnancies last fourteen months. It's in a book, somewhere in the TARDIS library."

"_Fourteen months_?"

Rose nodded, and Sarah Jane tossed the pudding into the microwave vehemently, and slammed the door so loudly that Rose jumped.

"Forget happy," said Sarah Jane with new resolve. "I say we string him up by his egotistical tail-feathers."

When the Doctor and Luke returned an hour later, they found Sarah Jane and Rose in the kitchen, both dissolved in laughter, tears rolling down their cheeks. The remains of the sticky toffee pudding were on a plate in the center of the table, two spoons laying nearby, along with several near-empty mugs of cold tea, numerous teabags, a plate of prawn mayo sandwiches, and two lipsticks.

"Ah, hello?" ventured the Doctor, suddenly very nervous.

The women turned to look at him, and the laughter intensified. Luke watched them for a moment, and then looked to the Doctor for explanation.

"_Every_ time," the Doctor sighed, and left Luke in the kitchen to ponder the oddness of older women.


	4. In the Dark

**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**Chapter Four: In the Dark**... Rose and the Doctor need a little bit of darkness before they can see.

* * *

**Chapter Four: In the Dark  
**

It was much later that night when Sarah Jane found herself sitting on her bench in the back garden, looking up at the stars. The Doctor and Rose had stayed for dinner, which consisted of take-away curry and another sticky toffee pudding. The Doctor explained quantum mechanics to Luke, who kept looking at Rose, who would look at Sarah Jane with a strange sparkle in her eye one moment and a brave smile the next. In the meantime, Sarah Jane resisted the urge to throttle the Doctor, all the while reminding Luke to eat his cauliflower, Rose to drink her water, and the Doctor to actually _eat_ something, anything, and please don't talk and chew at the same time.

Heaven help Rose, if the baby took after him. Maybe Gallifreyan children didn't learn to speak until they were forty.

There was a soft click, and Sarah Jane brought her attention back to Earth to see the Doctor emerging from the TARDIS. He grinned at her.

"Hello, Sarah Jane."

"Rose asleep?"

"Soon enough – she's trying to read the medical tome I found in the library about Gallifreyan physiology. There's a chapter devoted to pregnancy. It's fairly dry, I expect she'll be asleep within a few paragraphs."

"Oh, I don't know. She's motivated, and she slept for quite a while today."

He sat next to her on the bench. "I thought she would tell you, after I'd gone."

"I _ought_ to thank you for not telling me yourself."

"She had to tell someone, and she didn't tell her mother," said the Doctor quietly. "She won't, either – her choice – for quite a while yet. Jackie's world – it moves faster than this one. In the two years Rose has been here, Jackie's experienced nine years of her own. Better not for her to think that Rose is pregnant for four years."

"Better for Jackie, or for Rose?"

The Doctor didn't answer; he craned his neck up to the stars. "It's a good view."

Sarah Jane looked up. "It's not so bad. Luke wants to go with you, some day."

"I'll take him, some day. I'm glad you have him, Sarah Jane. I – I didn't like the thought of you not having anyone."

"Dodging the conversation, Doctor. We need to talk about Rose."

"Ah," he said, folding his hands together. "It's Rose's decision, about her mother. If she wants to tell her, then I don't object."

"That's not what I want to discuss. She's afraid."

The Doctor laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. My Rose? She's never been afraid. I've never known her to be afraid. Frightened, of course, but that's different."

"Tell me, Doctor, what happens when the baby is born?"

"Generally speaking, the mother will start to have contractions, and eventually these will lead to full-stage labor—"

Sarah Jane sighed loudly, which shut him up. "I mean, _after_ the baby is born. When it is you, and Rose, and baby, all tucked away in the TARDIS. What do you do then?" He didn't answer, and so she continued. "Do you know what a baby is? It's midnight feedings, and always running out of nappies, and trying to think three steps ahead but somehow missing a few along the way. So you take three completely different steps, each with another three steps beyond it that are never taken either, until you're so tired trying to count steps that you give up altogether, and then you discover you're out of formula. Or bread. Or clean nappies. And later on there's school, and shoes, and reminding in vain to wear a hat."

"It will work out," said the Doctor, and Sarah Jane nearly _did_ throttle him.

"But Rose doesn't _know_ that, Doctor. Children have been transient before, but never hers. I think she might be happy about the baby, underneath it all, but—"

The Doctor sat up straight, and stared at Sarah Jane. "_Might_ be happy? Only _might_ be happy?"

"She said something about how she thinks you'll be running for your lives with baby attached to your backs, for the rest of time, and I don't think that idea sits well with her."

"Running for our lives with a baby? We wouldn't – I would never – with a _baby_? I wouldn't put us in danger like that."

"You've got something of a track record," said Sarah Jane.

"I keep hearing that," he muttered.

"Well," said Sarah Jane, as if that ended the conversation, and they remained quiet for while, watching the stars.

"What were you laughing about?" asked the Doctor suddenly. "You both laugh so much."

"Confidential, Doctor. Sorry."

"I don't want her to worry."

"Have you even _talked_ to her, Doctor? Really talked, about what this baby means? Do you even know?"

"It won't change us." Sarah Jane laughed, and the Doctor frowned. "It _won't_."

"Go and talk to Rose, Doctor. She needs her mother, but instead she gets me. She needs you, and instead she has a dry medical textbook."

"She _has_ me."

Sarah Jane ignored him. "I very much doubt she's asleep. And don't you take her away just yet – I want to see her in the morning, and ask one last question."

"What?"

"I won't ask you. Good night, Doctor." Sarah Jane patted his knee, and went into the house, switching off the back light. She remained in the kitchen, looking out the window, until the Doctor went back into the TARDIS – it took him longer than it ought to have done. She wondered what he was thinking as she climbed the stairs. She stopped to look in on Luke as he slept. He looked young, asleep, and it wouldn't be very long before he wanted to set out on his own. Sarah Jane rested her head against the doorframe, not liking the idea very much, and watched Luke breathe for a minute before continuing on to her own bed.

* * *

Rose wasn't sure where the Doctor had gone after dinner. He'd been in their bedroom when she had left to find the medical textbook he'd mentioned, but by the time she returned, he was gone. Despite hearing the TARDIS cluck in disapproval, Rose had carried the extremely heavy book back to their bedroom, and finding it empty, had shrugged, changed into a set of pajamas, and settled into the bed to read. It was slow going, but not very difficult if she took her time, and each stage of pregnancy was clearly laid out, with diagrams and definitions. Rose found herself strangely captivated, particularly by the drawing of a stage-one zygote, which didn't look remotely human – or Gallifreyan – in the least.

"You don't look a bit human, do you," she remarked, settling her hand on her stomach. "Absolutely perfect, a real miracle you are, but goodness. You'll grow cuter, though, no worries."

Rose was well into the third stage when the Doctor opened the door. "I thought you'd be asleep."

"It's dry but not dull," she said, putting a bookmark between the pages and flipping it closed. "I didn't want to sleep. Did my brain grow? With the blue custard, I mean. And do I have a respiratory by-pass system?"

These were clearly not the questions he'd been expecting, and for a moment the Doctor stood in the middle of the room, blinking. "I don't know – you said no more tests, and they weren't important, so I didn't press."

"I'd think a secondary respiratory system would be very important. What if someone had tried to choke me?"

His face darkened. "Didn't happen."

"Could have."

"Didn't happen," he repeated, and tugged at his tie. "We can find out, if you want, but if you have one, you'll have to wait until the baby's born to learn how to use it. It takes a little practice, and sometimes practice doesn't go so well."

Rose pulled her knees up to her chest, watching him. "I wish you'd asked before. About the tests – if I'd known the reason, I would have said yes. I just wanted to be asked first, that's all."

He didn't reply, and Rose kept watching him, a caged tiger pacing the room, unbuttoning his coat, dropping the tie on a chair, pulling at his shirt. "Rose—"

"Yes?"

"If – no if, there _are_ other tests, but I don't know if I could administer them without harming the baby. In fact, I'm sure I couldn't."

"Then they'll wait. What are they?"

"I want another sample of your DNA."

"That's bloodwork, that's easy."

"Not for what I need. For this, I need bone marrow."

Rose stilled for a moment. "Oh. Why?"

"To see – to see if you could regenerate."

"Oh," repeated Rose, and rested her chin on her knees.

The Doctor stopped pacing and looked at her. "It's not important. It can wait a year."

"No," said Rose. "I mean – it can wait, yes, but if it's important to you—"

"I thought more for you."

When she didn't reply, he fell quiet again, continuing to undress in stages, less a caged tiger, but still dropping clothing across the room. He moved to her side of the bed and took the book away, setting it down on the floor. He turned out the light and slipped in next to her, and she lay on her side, facing him, with some space between them.

"I wasn't sure you wanted to sleep," she said softly in the dark.

"Not really. But I want to talk, and it's easier this way."

"Is Sarah Jane all right? I worried, telling her – I think she's half in love with you still."

"If she is, it's with a different me from long ago. She's fine. It's you I want to talk about."

"Am _I_ all right?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you. This – it's all come rather fast. I haven't really asked how you feel about it."

The problem with a conversation in the dark was that she couldn't see the Doctor's face, and more than anything, she wanted to know what expression was in his eyes. She reached to touch his cheek, but he caught her hand and held it between them on the mattress.

"Not yet."

"I don't have the right words. I feel a lot of things, and whatever I say first, that's what you'll think is most important, because I said it first, but really it's only first."

"Rose—" His hand tightened around hers. "Are you happy?"

"Sarah Jane asked the same thing."

"Clever girl, Sarah Jane."

"Are you?" Rose asked him.

"Clever? Enormously, but I still want to hear from you."

"I meant if you're happy."

His surprise was palpable, even in the dark. "You don't know?"

"I know you were shocked. Must have meant you didn't think it could happen. Maybe you're excited now, Doctor, but what happens in fourteen months? Or two years? Or when Baby's older and throwing tantrums, or sick, or needs friends, or school? What then? What kind of life is it for a child always transitory? I know I didn't have much growing up, but I had a home and it didn't go anywhere. And Mum never lost interest in me, never."

His hand gripped hers so tightly she wondered if the bones would snap. "I won't lose interest in you, Rose Tyler," he said gruffly. "Not in you, not in the baby. This is _my child_ you're talking about."

"So was the son you had with Carissa on Gallifrey," countered Rose. "And you talked to him four times in your entire life." She wrenched her hand away from his and rolled onto her back. Her arms curved around her stomach, as if to protect it. "I know you regret it, but you lost interest in him. You didn't even see him until he was older. You don't even know his name. _I know_ you regret it now. But Doctor – this isn't _your_ child. It's _our_ child. Mine as much as yours. And – I'm afraid."

The Doctor inched closer to her. "Rose—"

"I don't know what's happening to me," she whispered. "I'm tired and sick and the idea of feeling like this for over a year makes me even sicker. The worst is, I know I should be excited. This is what I wanted, when you kissed me two years ago, this is better, but I feel this horrible sense that it's all going wrong. That something is waiting to take it all away."

"Rose, listen to me," said the Doctor. "There is nothing – _nothing_ – that is powerful enough to take you and this baby away from me. Not now, not ever. I will always protect both of you, even if it takes every life I have left." He touched her cheek, and she turned to him, warm body and bright mind both, rushing into his arms and his thoughts in a single swift move.

It almost terrified her, the force of what she saw there – the depth of his resolve, his fierce need to protect. It was almost as if – no, it _was_ exactly as if he was making up for what he had done to Gallifrey in the last Time War. The idea that he placed so much symbolic resonance on this one, small, barely-formed life took her breath away while still making her worry more than before.

"No," she whispered, and pushed his thoughts down. "Please, no."

"I can't help it," he whispered back. "It just is."

"Shh." Rose slipped her own feelings in. The strange knot of joy and anticipation, radiating with concern and worry and its own sweet fear. But there was loneliness too, the idea that she walked alone on an untried path—

"Not alone," he said. "I'm here."

She didn't speak, just kept shoving her feelings through. _Yes_ alone, _her_ body, _her_ path, even if he accompanied. She desperately wanted him to accompany her – needed it, like breathing. She was afraid without him, there was too much unknown about the future, and the great looming prospect of so _much_ future rattled her to her bones. The idea that what she'd been gifted, this hundred years or more of life with him, might be extended beyond that by a quirk of DNA, was unthinkable. She didn't want it. It was too much.

"Rose."

She was sorry she'd made that remark about his son on Gallifrey. It had been horrible to say, and she hadn't really meant it. She knew he wouldn't lose interest in her, or the baby, but he shouldn't see the baby as a way to make amends for past mistakes. That was putting too much pressure on the child, and not giving her nearly enough credit for her own part in its creation. They were _new_, both their physiologies altered, everything from hearts to temperature, and so the baby was new, too. This wasn't a second chance for him – it was a _new_ chance. She wouldn't let him think any differently.

"Rose!"

Even like this, their thoughts overlapping, and he wanted to talk. There was only one way she'd ever been able to shut him up, and so she took it, putting her hands on his ears and kissing him.

* * *

It was some time before Rose at last came back to herself. The Doctor lay beside her, one leg over hers, one hand resting protectively over her stomach. Eyes closed, breath even – he was asleep. She could tell, even if their thoughts no longer overlapped. They'd kept the telepathic link nearly the whole time – a first, Rose was certain of it. She couldn't remember the telepathic retreat – she supposed it had been in the final moments, but it didn't matter. She felt a strange contentment that she hadn't felt before.

The covers had been kicked to the bottom of the bed, and Rose huddled into the Doctor, despite the fact he wasn't the best source of warmth in the galaxy. She knew from experience that any effort to get up would result in his holding her tighter, so the only thing to do was to wait for him to wake from his five-minute nap before rescuing the covers below.

Pushing into the Doctor seemed to do the trick, however, and she heard him begin to wake. "Rose?"

"I'm just going to fetch the blankets," she whispered, and was relieved when he let her scramble away to pull and straighten them, before settling back down beside him. He was awake when she returned, eyes fully open.

"Are you all right?"

"I think I might be pregnant," said Rose lightly.

He frowned. "I meant – what we did. The – ah – with the link open—"

Rose nuzzled into his shoulder. "I liked it."

"I – I didn't know what would happen. I heard stories, but—"

"What do the stories say?"

He hesitated for a moment, and she pushed up to look at his face in the dim light. "Doctor? Did we – the baby?"

"Baby's fine," he said. "Rose, tell me – how do you feel? Right now."

She thought for a moment. "Content. Happy. Excited."

"But – your mother?"

She jerked a little bit, but the expected feelings of overwhelming sorrow and grief didn't come. "I – I miss her. I wish she were here. Well, not _here_ here, that'd be uncomfortable, and I think she might slap you. I still wish I could tell her about the baby. But it's better this way."

"Me too."

Rose gave him a guarded look. "You too?"

"Yes," said the Doctor slowly. "I wish she were here. Which is the strange part, because while I like your mother well enough, I could do without mothers on the TARDIS. I always end up being slapped. It would be good to have her here – well, not _here_ here. In a different bedroom. Several miles away."

Rose stilled. "Doctor – what happened?"

He exhaled. "The stories I always heard, about mating while linked, said that powerful emotions could be exchanged. It's supposed to intensify the experience."

"Did that."

He grinned and reached up to brush her hair. "Yep. But it also mixed up a few others. Including the ones about your mother – and if I'm not mistaken—" His hand moved to her stomach, gently, and instantly she put her hand over his.

"Excited…" murmured Rose, and she looked down at their hands on her stomach, her voice began to fill with wonder. "I'm…going to have a _baby_."

"Yep."

"But – they're _your_ feelings, not mine," said Rose, looking up at his face again. "Just like your feelings about Mum are mine, not yours."

"No, Rose," said the Doctor quietly. "The feelings aren't yours or mine anymore. They're ours. This baby is ours, just as you said. Does it feel wrong to you?"

"No," whispered Rose. "I – I was excited before, but I was so afraid…."

He rubbed his thumb against her cheek. "I wish you could tell your mum, Rose. I wish she could be here for you. I felt that before too. It's just bigger now."

"I'm still afraid."

"Good," said the Doctor, and he grinned, repeating the words she'd said to him so long ago, when they'd first starting walking down the path that had led them to a real life together. "Someone ought to be."


	5. Trust Martha Jones

**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**Chapter Five: Trust Martha Jones**... Of all the doctors in all the world...

* * *

**Chapter Five: Trust Martha Jones**

Rose woke slowly, warm and comfortable, pressed up against the Doctor. Her mind was calmer than it had been in days, she wasn't racked with worry or fear, and she felt a deep sense of contentment and security, something she hadn't felt since Canary Wharf.

"We should go see Martha," said the Doctor as her eyes opened, and Rose looked at him blankly as she processed. "It's a bit early, but she'll need time to read up on the situation, before we really need her medical experience—"

"Doctor."

"Yes, Rose?"

"I'm going to close my eyes and pretend to wake up, and we're going to try that again."

"We shouldn't see Martha?"

"Rule Three: Don't mention old companions whilst in bed with your current companion."

"Ah."

Rose closed her eyes, and started to count to three. Before she'd even reached two, however:

"Oh, wait, we can't see Martha – Sarah Jane wanted a word before we left."

Rose sighed.

"What? Your eyes are still closed and I'm thinking aloud."

"You are impossible," said Rose, and opened her eyes anyway. He gave her a quick kiss on her lips.

"Good morning, Rose-of-my-hearts," he said cheekily.

"Better." He grinned and kissed her again, and she sighed, nuzzling into him. "Do we _really_ have to see Martha?"

He frowned. "You need a doctor – a real doctor, Rose, one who isn't me. Martha's trained, and I trust her."

"She doesn't like me."

"Don't be silly, she likes you well enough. She's professional, Martha is, she'll be able to handle anything that – well, anything that comes her way."

Rose lifted herself up on her elbow to get a better look at his face. It was perfectly calm, but she didn't need any link to know there was just a bit of doubt in the back of his brown eyes.

"Doctor, you're not saying things again. I wish you wouldn't not say things."

"Rose, there hasn't been a pregnant Gallifreyan in hundreds of years, not one I've ever known, anyway," said the Doctor quietly. "I have no idea what will happen. Please, Rose. I trust Martha Jones with my life. I trust her with yours, and with the baby's."

Rose rested her cheek on his chest, closed her eyes and listened to the double beat. His arms wrapped instinctively around her, and she could feel him kissing the top of her head, lips barely grazing her hair.

"All right," said Rose, softly, and pushed herself back up again. "What did Sarah Jane want to know?"

"I don't know, she wouldn't ask me. Very rude of her. Perhaps I won't have breakfast with her at all, I'm not hungry."

"Come in for tea at least, or she'll never forgive you."

"She hasn't forgiven me for Aberdeen. I think she's keeping a list."

"Then don't add to it." Rose sat up and began to swing her legs out of bed, but stopped midway through and immediately curled into a ball. "Ah – Doctor? Are there crackers?"

* * *

Breakfast was a mix of scones, cream, tea, and the rushed pace of Luke setting off to school. Rose wasn't certain she saw the boy eat anything, although he'd certainly sat down to a full bowl of cereal and stood up to an empty one. Perhaps she'd blinked too long. Luke's morning routine seemed to consist of running up and down the stairs half a dozen times for a lost shoe, missing book, or forgotten homework, and as the door finally slammed behind him, Sarah Jane collapsed at the table with a sigh.

"Now, that's done. Doctor, drink your tea and go away."

"Oi!"

"If you stay one minute longer there will be a crisis, and I don't want a crisis today. I have something to say to Rose and then you may have her back again."

"She'll only tell me anyway," said the Doctor, sulking, and stormed out of the kitchen in a huff. They watched him stalk across the garden toward the TARDIS, but he stopped midway through to examine one of the dying rose bushes.

"I know what you're going to ask," said Rose.

Sarah Jane did not bat an eye. "Oh? Let's hear it, then."

"We – talked last night."

"Is that what they call it these days?" Rose blushed, and Sarah Jane calmly sipped her tea. "Then things are better in the daylight?"

Rose rested her chin in her hand, watching the Doctor. "Forever isn't so bad, if he's there for it, I suppose. We _did_ talk a little. I don't know how it will be, having a baby on the TARDIS, running for our lives all the time, but I'm not so afraid now."

"Good," said Sarah Jane thickly, and reached for Rose's other hand. "I meant it, what I said a few years ago. If there's ever a day you need me, all you have to do is stand on my doorstep. I know I can't replace your mum, Rose, and honestly, I don't want to try. But the Doctor isn't always very quick in some matters, and I don't want you to think there's nowhere for you to go."

Rose had to blink very hard to keep her eyes from spilling over. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she sniffed. "I keep crying all the time."

"Pregnant," offered Sarah Jane, handing her a napkin, and Rose buried her face in it.

The door flew open again. "What did you do to her?" asked the Doctor angrily, coming straight to Rose and resting his hands on her shoulders.

"She's _pregnant_, you bloody Time Lord, you're the one who did it," said Sarah Jane huffily. "Sit her down anywhere long enough and she'll start crying. Honestly, I don't know how Rose manages without someone to beat some sense into you on a regular basis."

"He'd never stand a companion like that," said Rose, drying her eyes. "Lord and master, him, couldn't have someone who might thump him."

"Did once," muttered the Doctor. "She didn't want to stay."

"Clever girl, she would have wore her arms out," said Sarah Jane dryly, and Rose giggled while the Doctor crossed his arms and glared. "Where are you off to now?"

Rose folded the napkin. "Martha Jones – we're going to ask her to be my doctor—"

"She'll do it," said the Doctor firmly.

"We'll still be polite and _ask_," Rose said patiently. "And then – I don't know."

"Will Shakespeare," said the Doctor, and Rose spun in her seat.

"_Really_?"

"You've been wanting, and it's at least a month before you can't go in the Vortex until the baby's born, not without running the risk of damaging telepathic temporal imprinting. So it ought to be now, if we're to make a proper holiday of it."

Rose jumped up from her chair and threw her arms around him, unable to speak. Sarah Jane sat back in her chair and grinned at the pair of them. "Just don't get stuck there, now," she said cheerfully. "Bloody Mary was pregnant going on two years, and look what happened to _her_."

LINE

Martha Jones, M.D., rarely began her day without checking her schedule, calling her mother, or glancing at the TARDIS key kept safely in her bed-stand drawer. The first because she liked knowing there was a plan; the second because her mother worried; the third because she was hopeful that the plan would go to pot and her mum would finally have good reason to worry.

Tuesday morning, the TARDIS key was quiet, but Martha couldn't be sure it was cold. She popped it in her pocket just in case. Her mother was in a rush out the door, so this cut their conversation short. Last, there was an appointment at 3pm with a new patient named Rose Smith.

It wasn't that Martha didn't _like_ working for U.N.I.T. It was more that she liked being in the real world, too, where people walked about not discussing aliens and technology and five impossible things before breakfast. Three days a week, Martha lived in the impossible world of outer space, aliens, and what might have been otherwise classified as science fiction if it weren't so very real. But Tuesdays and Thursdays, she stayed very well settled in the real world, with a normal doctor's practice and a normal doctor's routine, and pretended that she was living a normal, structured life.

All the same, a little bit of uncertainty was a good thing. When it came time to meet the new patient, Martha couldn't help the grin on her face or the way her heart pounded. She wasn't disappointed.

"Doctor Jones!" said the Doctor, wide grin and blue suit, enveloping her in a hug before the door shut behind her. "You need new magazines in your waiting room – there were some older than me."

"Mr. Smith," laughed Martha. "Now I know you're teasing me. And making an appointment for Rose Smith?"

"Hello," said Rose from where she sat on the exam table, and Martha gave her an welcome smile.

"Figured it out, though, my clever Martha," said the Doctor, pleased and proud, and Martha tried to ignore the way her heart jumped. "You have to be good to me, I wore your blue suit."

Martha turned to Rose. "You couldn't have burned the red shoes?"

"I did," said Rose. "Twice. He keeps finding another pair."

"Oi, what's wrong with my shoes? What if we're attacked by Slitheen and need to run?"

"Not in my office, not today," said Martha. "Is this a visit or an actual appointment?"

"Both," said the Doctor. "I have homework for you." He nodded to Rose, who presented a thick medical volume, leather-bound and looking much worse for wear.

"I'm out of school now, Doctor."

"For this, you're not. We need a real medical doctor for this, Martha Jones, one with experience and qualifications. And _you_ are _it_." Rose kicked him. "Oh, all right. Doctor Jones, we'd _like_ you to _consider_ being our doctor. Please."

Martha looked between Rose and the Doctor. There was a heavy feeling snaking from her stomach to her heart. An appointment for Rose – the Doctor trying to appease her – and homework?

"Why?" she managed to choke out, but somehow knew what the answer would be.

The Doctor looked at Rose, who shook her head as if to tell him it was all right if he shared the news. He grinned, clearly pleased. "Rose and I are having a baby."

Martha somehow found herself switched to autopilot. She kept her attention squarely on her patient – she wasn't sure what she'd do if she looked at the Doctor just then. "You're pregnant?"

Rose nodded as the Doctor squeaked in protest. "Well, it's hardly going to be me!"

"I don't know how Time Lords procreate!" snapped Martha, barely glancing at him. "How far along?"

"Not sure," said Rose. "Maybe a month, maybe a little more. But it's a fourteen-month pregnancy, apparently, so it's not as much as it sounds first off. It's all in the book here – well, some of all of it, I've been reading it ever since I found out, and I finished about an hour ago. It's a lot more complicated than a regular pregnancy, looks like."

"And I've only got one book?" In her shock, Martha finally turned to the Doctor. "You want me to learn the entire gestation of a Time Lord baby and you only brought me _one book_?"

"Time Tot, actually," said the Doctor.

"Awful, isn't it?" interjected Rose.

"_One book_?"

"To be fair, it's only one chapter in the book," continued Rose. "Took hours to read, but I'm all done now."

"Really, Rose, not helping," sighed the Doctor.

"_One chapter_!?"

"Told you she wouldn't be pleased," said Rose.

Rational thought was completely out of the question now, and Martha advanced on the Doctor, poking him in the chest. "Do you expect me to see Rose through the next fourteen months on the basis of _one_ chapter in _one_ book, Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"I need more books. And time to read them. And maybe some research. And don't tell me that's the only book in your library because I won't believe you."

"You can check yourself," said the Doctor. "The TARDIS is in the park across from your flat. The only question is when or where you'd fancy dinner."

"Chips!" piped up Rose.

"Pregnancy hasn't changed her cravings one bit," said the Doctor. "Martha?"

"Oh, chips. But in 1957 in Brighton. And _your_ treat."

"He made me pay for chips on our first date," said Rose. "And here I sit, all knocked up. Bet he skips out on your bill, too."

"I've come to expect it," said Martha, and she picked up the medical text, surprisingly heavier than it looked. She glared at the Doctor. "Thicker on the inside than the out, isn't it?"

"Yep," said the Doctor with a grin.

* * *

The TARDIS was not quite the same as when Martha left it. Of course, it wouldn't be – she hadn't been inside since Rose's return two years previously, and there were bound to be changes made. Though seeing them together, happy and playful, had become less painful over time, Martha wasn't sure how walking into what was essentially their home (once hers) would feel.

She'd waited five hours before showing up for dinner, partly to allow herself time for a good cry. It wasn't that she'd harbored any notion that the Doctor might realize he loved her and not Rose – oh, goodness, no, she knew better than _that_. She saw what he was like with Rose – he was calmer, he was happier, and Martha didn't want to take that away from him, no matter much it hurt to see that it was Rose giving him that contentment and not her.

After the cry, she washed her face, changed her clothes, and read the chapter on pregnancy. Rose might have taken a few hours to read it, but Martha was a product of medical school, and thus able to finish it in 45 minutes flat. The moment she was done, she made a quick list of the types of books she wanted, and packed a small medical kit in preparation before setting out to find the TARDIS and her new patient.

They'd gone to Brighton, eaten chips while looking out on the water, laughing and talking about nothing at all, and Martha managed not to feel entirely like the third wheel. Afterwards, the TARDIS took them back home, and the Doctor, muttering delightedly to himself, went back under the grating to tinker with the TARDIS, happy in his general discontent in regards to how everything ran, leaving Martha and Rose to themselves.

The medical kit sat behind her on the floor of the TARDIS library, its contents spilled across the floor. Rose was curled in her favorite blue chair, still dressed in the wide, long skirt suited for 1957, her hair pulled back in a ponytail that made her look 18 and not 27. She was reading the book Martha had packed for her, studying it with all due interest and concentration, as Martha poured over the bookshelves surrounding them. She had a fairly good idea what sort of books she wanted, and she'd spent a year studying the contents of the shelves, so she knew more or less where to find things. Happily, the TARDIS was helping her, moving shelves up and down so she could access them. Martha wasn't sure if it meant the ship was glad to have her on board, or merely wanted to make sure Martha was truly prepared. She found books that she'd never seen before, books she was certain would be enormously helpful, and the growing piles behind her (three now, with at least ten books apiece) were evidence of her success.

Martha had just found a book on telepathic psychology in infants when Rose spoke. "I'm sorry about him, really, Martha. I – I don't think he realizes other people's feelings run so deep."

Martha pulled the book from the shelf. "Same as most men, then," she said, trying to keep her tone light, and she turned back to the woman in the chair. Rose had closed the book and was watching her with wary, open eyes. "Him, he's a bit more daft than most."

"Yes. I – I wasn't sure you'd want to come anywhere with us tonight."

"I needed the books, and you needed dinner. Did you take the vitamins I brought for you?"

"Yes, of course. I've set my watch to remind me to take one every 24 hours so I won't forget."

"That'll do then." Martha set the book down on a pile and turned back to the bookshelves. "I'll help you as best I can, Rose, but…there's too much I don't know. I need you to take those vitamins, every day. And chart your blood pressure for me, twice a day, three times if it starts rising, and if it does you come straight back to me. I want to see you once a month regardless, maybe more later, we'll see."

Rose's face brightened. "Then – you'll help me?"

"Of course."

"I wasn't sure you'd want to."

Martha scoffed. "Challenge like this? I was beginning to think my life was boring."

Rose shook her head. "You're a good person, Martha Jones. I'm glad he had you when he didn't have me."

Martha choked up suddenly, and was very glad she still faced the bookshelves. "I'm not a good person. Tried to take him away from you once."

"I wasn't here. There was no one to take him from."

"Tell him that," sighed Martha. She turned to look at Rose, holding a book in front of her like a shield. "Oh, how I wished he'd forget you. Only he never did. You know where he took me? New Earth, because you'd been there. He saved me from falling into a sun because he couldn't save you from falling into the Void. Everything he did for me, it was a way of reminding himself of you. I never stood a chance, and it took me two years to realize it. Best years of my life, really, I don't regret it, but don't say you weren't here. You'd never really left."

Rose's gaze was steady, but there was something in her eyes that wasn't quite right, or so Martha thought – confusion, almost, but not really.

"He loves you too, in a way," said Rose, and Martha could see that she was working her way through something that had little to do with what the Doctor might feel for either of them.

"Not the way I wanted."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not," said Martha, which surprised herself as much as it surprised Rose. She set the last book down on a pile. "Think the Doctor will stop playing mechanic long enough to carry books?"

"Best not to give him the choice. Hand over a pile."

"And have the Doctor toss me out on my ear?"

Rose held out her arms. "He'll take mine and half of yours to prove the point. I'm not infirm, I'm just pregnant."

"Same thing to his eyes," said Martha, piling books into her arms. "Pregnant with an alien baby, disposition as sweet as cream, and knows how to manipulate _him_. Never a chance, not one."


	6. Not Quite London

**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**Chapter Six: Not Quite London**... When last we left them, Rose learned she was pregnant, Martha agreed to see her through it, and the Doctor was oblivious to...well, lots of things, really. All three are still true, except now the Doctor's trying to take Rose to see Shakespeare. Again. With the predictable results...

* * *

**Chapter Six: Not Quite London**

Rose was torn about several different things. One had to do with their destination. The Doctor had promised her Will Shakespeare two years running, and now that they were actually going, Rose was hopeful that she'd end the day having seen something wonderful.

Of course, the Doctor had an extensive track record, two years running, of managing _not_ to show her Shakespeare, so Rose was trying to temper her excitement.

The other issue was Martha Jones. Rose liked Martha well enough, although she wasn't always certain that Martha liked her – there was the small issue of Martha being in love with the Doctor, despite her words in the library. Something Martha had said made it sound as if she'd spent two years with the Doctor, but Rose could have sworn the Doctor had told her it was one. Perhaps she'd misunderstood – Rose remembered jokes about pregnancy memories, and decided that's what it had been. Nothing more than that.

But at the moment, Rose didn't _mind_ that the Doctor had asked Martha if she wanted to see Shakespeare with them. It was more that he was letting Martha help him to navigate the TARDIS now, while she watched from the jump seat.

In the two years with the Doctor, Rose had picked up quite a bit of navigational skills, and the two of them could operate the TARDIS without words, without thoughts, moving in tandem with each other seamlessly, like a perfectly executed dance. Rose loved it, working with the Doctor that way – there were seldom times in which she was happier than those moments. Watching Martha struggle – just a tiny bit, just the smallest half fraction of a second too slow, needing a second explanation for where to find a particular lever – made Rose feel instantly sorry for poor Martha, and at the same time, quite superior.

When they landed, the Doctor popped his head above the console and grinned at her.

"What? You'd better go and change, can't go to the premiere of Romeo and Juliet in jeans," he said cheerfully. "Where's that dress you never stop nattering on about?"

Rose sat straight up in the jump seat. "Really and truly? We're there?"

"Oh, God, do I have to change too?" groaned Martha, slumped over the console on the far side.

"Come on, Martha," cajoled Rose. "It's fun."

"Only if she wants," said the Doctor, and Rose stuck her tongue out at him.

"More dress for me, then," she said cheerfully, and ran out of the console room.

"Don't even think about lacing into a corset," Martha shouted after her, and Rose laughed, wondering how she'd manage it on her own.

Luck was with her, and the wardrobe room was close – the TARDIS had even pulled out the dress and all its bits and pieces, and Rose (who had practiced when the Doctor wasn't looking) managed to pull it all together in record time. She gave a final appraisal in the mirror and grinned. The satiny-grey dress was perfect for the Elizabethan period. The overskirt was covered in delicate embroidery, blue and yellow roses with thin green vines connecting them in a massive spider-web. The folds were deep, billowing out around her, and for a girl who was more comfortable in denim, created an odd sensation of being a princess. The underskirt was embroidered as well, a pale peach with white roses and blue vines, just peeking out from beneath the skirt and stomacher, and the white, filmy shift beneath created little ruffles around her breasts and beneath her sleeves. Rose smoothed the folds of fabric, and touched her hair cautiously, uncertain what to do with it.

"Bit plain, for the dress," she said aloud. "Can't be helped. Maybe the Doctor will think of something – or it'll just do as it is." A low, reassuring hum sounded from the TARDIS, and Rose grinned at her reflection, instantly feeling better. She brushed her hand along the walls as she ran back down the corridor, flying into the console room to see Martha and Doctor frowning over the controls. Rose didn't even stop, racing right by them.

"Allons-y, don't waste time," she called out, too excited to stop, and pulled both the TARDIS doors open, fully expecting to see the whole of 16th century London bustling around her.

Instead, she found herself in the middle of a grassy plain, rolling hills in the distance, a bright blue sky above. Rose took a few disbelieving steps outside of the TARDIS, staring at her surroundings in shock. The wind whipped around her, carrying the salty scent of the sea, and she could hear gulls in the distance. There was nothing to be seen for miles, save the waving grass, a line of trees, and beyond that, the ocean, stretching to the horizon.

"This isn't London."

"Ah, no," said the Doctor appearing behind her, much subdued but unable to hide his curiosity in the surroundings. "It's Cornwall." He bounced on the ground, testing it. "A field in Cornwall, it would appear."

"Cornwall," repeated Rose. "When?"

"Summer, I think, it's quite warm. Martha, don't you think it's warm? Nice bit of breeze, too," said the Doctor as Martha came out of the TARDIS.

"Oh, it's about to get a whole lot warmer, I expect," said Martha dryly.

"Doctor," warned Rose. "What _year_ is it?"

"Well….." The Doctor gulped, and started rubbing the back of his neck. "1588."

Rose slowly swiveled toward him. "And we're in Cornwall."

"We could get to the play, if we popped back into the TARDIS, just a short little hop, not long—"

Rose sighed and covered her face with her hands. "No, it's all right. Cornwall."

"It's Shakespearean!"

"Little early, though," said Martha helpfully.

"Only – I thought I'd really have Shakespeare this time," said Rose. "And Romeo. And Juliet. And a lovely theatre with a pretty dress."

"It's a pretty dress," offered the Doctor.

"It's a _gorgeous_ dress," corrected Martha, but it was too little, too late. Rose's face fell as she stared at the Doctor, and it was all she could do to turn to Martha.

"Thank you, Martha."

"Rose – we'll go now," the Doctor stammered, clearly trying to remedy the situation the only way he knew how: words. "Still plenty of time to catch the opening act—"

Rose shook her head. "No. If you don't want me to see Shakespeare, we won't go. Obviously you've got some reason to keep me away from him. I just wish you wouldn't keep telling me we're going and then not."

"He's a bit of a flirt, really," said Martha, and the Doctor grimaced as Rose turned to stare at her in shock. "Tried to kiss me, with the most awful breath. Really, you're not missing much."

"You – you met Shakespeare?"

Martha blinked, deer in headlights. "Ah. Yes? First place he took me. He didn't tell you?"

"No, that didn't come up."

Martha turned on the Doctor, who was slowly backing away. "You didn't tell her?"

"It didn't come up?" he tried.

"What about Elizabeth? Did you tell her about Elizabeth trying to kill you?"

"Elizabeth?" asked Rose.

"The queen tried to kill him," Martha told her.

"Queens don't like him much," said Rose.

"What else didn't you tell her, Doctor?" asked Martha, suddenly growing alarmed. "Oh, god. Don't tell me—" Martha went pale.

"What?" asked Rose, and she grabbed Martha's arm. "What didn't he tell me?"

"Martha," warned the Doctor, his voice suddenly stern.

Martha looked at Rose. "He didn't tell you."

"_What_?"

The Doctor pointed at Martha, sounding very Time-Lordish, and not succeeding in frightening anyone. "Martha, don't you say a word! _Not one word_."

"We slept in the same bed," said Martha.

Rose stared at Martha, who stared right back.

"It didn't mean anything!" the Doctor shouted.

"Nothing happened," squeaked Martha.

"_I didn't even sleep_."

"I mean, I _wanted_ it to," continued Martha.

"There was only the _one bed_!"

"But he was a perfect gentleman!"

"I stayed on _my side_."

"He did, bloody Time Lord!" wailed Martha.

Rose had been watching both of them like a tennis match as they volleyed their defenses back and forth. She didn't think she could hear another word without bursting into laughter or tears (again, she was torn), so the only thing she could manage to do was to turn and walk away.

"Rose?" called the Doctor, with Martha repeating.

"I'm fine," she replied, her voice high enough to reach them, without her having to shout. She didn't stop walking. "I'm just going to walk to London now."

She heard the Doctor race after her, Martha behind him. "Rose, you can't walk to London."

"I'm wearing my trainers."

"Rose, it's over two hundred miles."

"I like walking."

The Doctor tried to take her arm, but she brushed him off. "Rose," he said, nearly begging. "Please, come back to the TARDIS. We'll go straight to London, be there in minutes."

"Oh, couldn't," said Rose. "You'd overshoot and we'd end up in Berlin."

"Rose, think of the baby. You can't walk two hundred miles, you'll wear yourself out."

"I can stop every so often. I've got seven years before Romeo and Juliet, I should be there in time!"

"You've only got three weeks before you have to go back through the Vortex, Rose," snapped the Doctor. "The baby can't take a time journey after that point – not when the neural impulses and time senses begin working. It's too dangerous, it could affect the entire way he reasons and thinks!"

Rose stopped dead in her tracks. He made perfect sense, and Rose found this annoyed her terribly. "Oh. I see. The baby. Of course. Back to the TARDIS, Rose, can't risk the baby. Never mind that you could be attacked or kidnapped or worse on the road to London, but heaven forbid your journey take a little longer than expected, because the _baby_ might be hurt."

The Doctor groaned and ran his hands through his hair. "That's not what I meant. The TARDIS is _safe_, Rose."

Rose spun on him. "Stop wrapping me in cotton wool. Why don't you want me to see Shakespeare?"

"It's got nothing to do with Shakespeare."

"Oh? Then maybe it's got to do with Elizabeth, is that it?"

"Nothing to do with her either!"

"How about Martha then!" shouted Rose. "Perhaps you didn't want to spoil the memory of a date with Martha! Is that it?"

"You're being irrational," he said.

"All right! I'm irrational! I was human once, we tend to be irrational when we're repeatedly lied to and told we're going places and then end up somewhere completely different! And I'm going to walk to London because you promised me Shakespeare and that's what I intend to get!"

The crack of her hand meeting his cheek shocked all three of them. Rose hadn't expected it to sound quite so loud, or make her hand sting so badly.

Martha hadn't expected Rose would have the gumption to actually slap him, and the desire to laugh was almost overwhelming.

The Doctor tried to regain his balance, thinking that he really ought to have expected it eventually – there had never been a mother yet who hadn't slapped him. Only, he hadn't really expected the mother to be Rose.

As soon as she came to her senses again, Rose stormed off, mouth set and her hands clenching. Slapping the Doctor hadn't made her feel one bit better. She could hear him shouting behind her, and then Martha's voice joined in. She wasn't the least bit interested – except it sounded as if Martha was shouting _at_ and not _with_ him, and she slowed her march just a little to try to catch the words.

But Martha had stopped shouting, and was running up to join her. Rose set her mouth again, determined to stay angry.

"I didn't know he hadn't told you," she said, a bit out of breath. "I wouldn't have said anything. And really—"

"Nothing happened," said Rose. "I know. If it had, he would have said something. It's because nothing happened that he didn't think it was important to tell."

"Bloody stupid Time Lord," sighed Martha.

"Bloody stupid _man_," corrected Rose. "Is he still following?"

Martha glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah. Looks right miserable, too."

"Good."

They walked in silence for a few moments, reaching the tree line on the edge of the field. The two of them walked along it for a little bit, before Martha ventured to speak again.

"Still. It was a good slap."

"My mother slapped him one," said Rose, thinking almost fondly of the memory. "Might have been twice, come to think of it."

"My mum slapped him too. Must be something about mothers."

Rose began to giggle. "That explains it. It's lovely here, though. Prettier than London probably is."

"Smells better, too," offered Martha. "Nearly had a chamber pot upturned on me in my first five minutes that trip."

Rose laughed, and then glanced back to see the Doctor following some ten meters behind. She frowned at him and looked away quickly, lest he think she forgave him.

"I don't like being angry with him."

"I don't think he's keen on it himself. You aren't really going to walk to London, are you?"

Rose sighed, and brushed her fingers along the low leaves. "I don't know. Only – I have to wonder what else he's not telling me."

Martha swallowed. "Ah…what _did_ he tell you?"

Rose glanced at her. "What do you think he'd leave out?"

The stricken look on Martha's face was the last thing Rose saw before the ground beneath her feet suddenly gave way. Martha cried out and reached for her, but before Rose could grab her hand – before she could even realize she _should_, she tumbled through the tree line and onto a down-ward sloping cliff.

It was like Alice down the rabbit hole; Rose barely had time to tuck her head in, and was only able to see glimpses of the brown cliff and blue sea turning in circles as she tumbled. The only thing that kept her from being bruised on the rocky path was the layers of dress surrounding her, the chunks of dirt and grass and leaves following her down. She landed on the sand briefly before the avalanche of mud and debris pushed her further away.

Several minutes went by before everything stopped moving, and it wasn't until then that Rose felt safe enough to stand. By the time she looked back at the cliff, all traces of her tumble had been obliterated, covered by the dirt and debris. She looked up, and could only see the line of trees at the top, and no sign that anyone was there at all.

Rose struggled to stay upright; her head was spinning. There was an odd buzzing in the back of her mind, and she thought the world was still turning in circles around her. When she heard the Doctor shout, she couldn't even be sure that it was him, and not some long-lost memory of Canary Wharf.

"_Rose_!"

Only she'd never heard him shout at Canary Wharf; she hadn't heard anything at all, except for the rushing of wind. Her head was too full of everything else, but she remembered what his face looked like, the way he reached for her. It was probably just as well, thought Rose, when she heard him call out her name again, frantic, afraid, and lost. To have heard his frenzied and crazed scream in her nightmares for the next five years would have been overwhelming.

"I'm all right," she called up, struggling to keep her balance, to keep her head from spinning. "But there's a lot of dirt down here – I think the path's been covered up."

The Doctor appeared suddenly, poking his torso through the trees, and she saw him slump with relief when he saw her. "You're really all right?"

"I think so."

"Nothing broken?" called Martha, still unseen.

"Not that I can tell," said Rose. "There might be a path further on."

The Doctor didn't seem to want to move. "Rose—"

Rose shook her head; her head still swam, but just seeing him made her feel better. "Later, Doctor. Let's find a way up first."

His face was grim and taut, but he nodded and disappeared back into the trees. Rose sighed, and before she began walking down the beach, she went to the waterline, careful to hold her skirts up. The waves lapped at her trainers, and Rose grinned, very glad she'd not bothered with any other kind of shoe. What was a trip with the Doctor, if it didn't involve some kind of adventure, anyway?

"Cornwall," she said under her breath. Leave it to the Doctor, to find a way to keep her from Shakespeare. To not realize that sharing a bed would mean something different to Martha than it would to him.

The first place he'd taken her – it couldn't have been long after she'd been trapped, if that was true. Rose almost felt sorry for the Doctor – how awful, to be in bed with the wrong girl, to feel the heat from her skin, to hear her soft breathing, and know it wasn't the right skin, the right breath. No wonder he hadn't wanted to tell her; he probably didn't care to remember it himself.

Rose sighed, and glanced back at the tree line. She could just make out two shadowy figures walking along, quickly, and wondered what they were saying. She left the water and started to follow.

* * *

The Doctor didn't want to talk. He walked quickly, nearly running, and Martha kept pace with him, for which he supposed he was grateful, but it didn't matter very much. He was angry, and scared, and the only thing he wanted to do was find a path down to Rose, and slide down it, pick her up, and kiss her. If he could convince Martha to stay on the cliff, he probably wouldn't stop with kissing.

"Doctor," began Martha, and he nearly groaned. He didn't want to talk. No, really, he didn't – talking meant walking at a slower pace, and he wanted to run.

"I didn't _mean_ to land in Cornwall." He tried to keep his tone clipped. Perhaps Martha would take the hint. "I really was going to take her to Romeo and Juliet."

"Odd choice," said Martha.

"Worked out well enough, maybe I'd hit a time when Elizabeth didn't want me dead."

"Or maybe you'd be the reason she did," Martha pointed out. "She died before Shakespeare, didn't she? You could have brought Rose here then."

"She wanted Romeo and Juliet," repeated the Doctor.

"Stubborn," scoffed Martha.

"Oi!"

"No, you are! Honestly, it's a good thing I don't travel with the two of you, I'd always want to be knocking your heads together."

The Doctor looked at her. "Good thing, then."

Martha trudged on. "What else didn't you tell her?"

"I told her the important bits."

"Yeah, but I would have thought sharing a bed was important. And you left that out, so clearly your version of important and my version of important aren't the same."

The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and walked faster. He could tell Martha wasn't keeping up, and slowed down just enough that she wouldn't fall entirely behind, but would perhaps get the idea that he didn't want to talk about it. He _hadn't_ told Rose everything, because there was a lot of things that didn't matter very much. The whole year he'd spent with the Master, for one thing, trapped on a ship above the earth, while Martha had walked the Earth alone. Rose didn't know about that – no reason to know, really. She didn't know about the Chameleon Ark, either, or what happened when he lived his life as a human in 1913, falling in love with Joan, seeing himself married to her, children with her…Rose didn't need to know that.

She didn't know what really happened the first time he saw a crossroads, when he was a student. Of everything, that was the last thing she didn't need to know.

Oh, she'd complained once, how he made choices for everyone else. That was true enough, but that was his job, wasn't it, to make decisions and carry them out? As long as he made good ones, what did it matter?

And he really _had_ meant to land in London in 1595, that was the truth. He'd give the TARDIS a right good kick when they returned—

"You didn't tell her about the Master, did you?"

The Doctor nearly stopped in his path; he turned around and stared at Martha. "Did you?"

"No," replied Martha, finally catching up to him. "But I said I'd spent two years learning to…well, with you. And she had such an odd look on her face. You didn't tell her about that, did you? About the year that never was? About growing old, and the paradox?"

"It's not important," snapped the Doctor, and he started walking again, with Martha striding beside him.

"I don't think Rose would agree."

"I won't have her know I collapsed time here, too."

"Too?" echoed Martha.

He sighed. "I collapsed time in the other world when I brought her over here. I didn't know it would happen. It nearly killed a friend of hers."

Martha was quiet for a moment. "Did it?"

"No."

"She forgive you?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't see the problem."

"She doesn't know I did it before," he said shortly. "If I did it before, I should have known I could do it again. I should have taken better care. I shouldn't have done anything so stupid as to—" He trailed off, but Martha didn't give up.

"Stupid as to what? Bring her here? Get her back? I don't think she'll regret you doing that anytime soon."

"Well, we won't know because we're not telling her. She thinks I didn't know it might happen and she'll go on thinking that, thank you."

"Are you saying you _knew_ it might happen?"

"I'm saying I didn't know it would!"

"So you're asking me to lie?"

The scream from the beach interrupted any reply the Doctor might have made, and he pushed himself through the trees, just in time to see Rose on the beach below, but not alone.

"_Rose_!" he shouted, and watched as she struggled against the two men who were dragging her to a small dinghy half in the water and held still by two others, tossing her in like driftwood before shoving off to row furiously away.

"_Doctor_!"

Martha was beside him suddenly, and she pointed to the horizon. "Doctor, look! They're taking her out there."

The Doctor somehow managed to pull his eyes away from Rose, and his mouth dropped open in shock.

The Channel was filled with galleons, as graceful and majestic as whales, with flags and banners and sails whipping in the brisk wind. There were so many of them, he couldn't make out the horizon on the other side. On the mast of each flew the Spanish flag.

"1588," said Martha. "Doctor – it's the Spanish Armada. You've brought us to a war."

…_the child will die in battle…_

"_No_," gasped the Doctor, nearly falling over, and Martha pulled him back through the trees.

"Yes, it is, I remember this. Doctor, what's the date? What's the exact date?"

"July 30," said the Doctor, sitting down hard on the ground.

"Doctor, it's the Spanish Armada – the first skirmish between the English and the Spanish is _tomorrow_. Rose is headed right for one of those ships!"

It was reflexive – it shouldn't have been, he knew, but he did it anyway. He pushed his thoughts out past the trees, past the shore, over the waves, until they nearly collided with Rose's, somewhere over the water.

He inhaled sharply. "I've got her. She's all right. She's scared. The men think she's important—"

Martha stared at him, confused. "What?"

"I can see what she's thinking. She's afraid, but she's all right. Martha, _she's all right_." The relief made him nearly laugh out loud, despite the clear fear in Rose's thoughts. There weren't words – there never were – but he could read her easily, and he knew she could read him. All he could do was _show_ her, show her how he was going to save her, he would run back to the TARDIS, he'd materialize on the ship, whatever ship she was on, he'd pull her in and they'd get so far away from England in 1588 she'd think being on a Spanish dinghy was just a trick of the mind.

He felt her thoughts soften then, just a little. The fear receding, just a bit, and his grin got wider.

"Oh, I'll save you, Rose Tyler—"

Before the words were out of his mouth – just like before, just like on Bad Wolf Bay – she was gone, her thoughts were severed as if sliced with a cleaver. The shock of it nearly snapped his senses. He wasn't on the dinghy next to Rose any longer – he was sitting on the cliff, and Martha was looking through the trees.

"She's on the ship now," said Martha. "I saw them pull up the dinghy."

"She's gone," said the Doctor dully. "I had her with me, just for a moment. In my head, she was saying she was all right, I told her we'd get her – and then she wasn't there."

Martha glanced back at him. "She's there. Look, you can just make out her dress, boarding the ship."

The Doctor looked – sure enough, there was a woman in a grey satin dress, going from the dinghy to the galleon. He couldn't feel her thoughts – but she was alive.

The Doctor stepped back from the cliff and took Martha's hand. "Run," he said, and together, they raced back toward the TARDIS.

They might have made it, too, contemplated the Doctor, had they not run smack into the last person in Elizabethan England the Doctor wanted to see.

"_Doctor_!" roared the fifth monarch of the Tudor Dynasty, The Virgin Queen, Gloriana, Good Queen Bess herself, resplendent in a gown that put Rose's to shame, and looking angrier than anyone the Doctor had ever met. "You dare return to our sight again?"

"Ah," said the Doctor.

"Explain yourself!"

"Doctor," muttered Martha.

The Doctor raised his hands in surrender. "Hello?"


	7. They Were Scattered

**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**Chapter Seven: They Were Scattered**... The Doctor, Martha and Rose all lose each other.

**A/N:** The title is a reference to later events; those who recognize it may have a clue to what happens in Chapter Nine. The _San Salvador_ was an actual ship in the Spanish Armada, but Captain Julio de Santiago is all mine.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: They Were Scattered**

The queen was resplendent. She looked like every image of Queen Elizabeth that Martha had ever seen. Powdered white face, massive lace ruff, skirts for miles, and a mouth which showed evidence of having just sucked on a lemon. Martha was awed.

The Doctor, however, was being his normal self.

"Lovely day for a walk, I said, we'll just pop out and take a walk along the cliffs, overlooking the water – my, what a sight, don't you think, your majesty, and goodness me, but I don't think those Spanish galleons stand half a chance against your own magnificent fleet, you can take 'em without half an inch of trouble and home in time for tea—"

"Silence," said Elizabeth, and the Doctor's mouth closed with a snap. Martha's opinion of Elizabeth, captive or not, instantly went up. "We thought there would be no need of reminding you, Doctor, but apparently we were incorrect. You have been banished from our lands. Pray tell, why are you here?"

"Welllllll," started the Doctor, rubbing the back of his neck, and Elizabeth sniffed.

"Spying for the Spanish, no doubt."

"Oh, come on," protested the Doctor, sounding pained. "Me, spy for the Spanish? I'd sooner let you chop off my head."

Elizabeth sniffed again. "It has occurred to us, yes."

"Told you before, I'm as loyal as they come," said the Doctor. "Well – I'm sure I will have told you before. It'll come up."

Elizabeth gave him a guarded look before turning her attention to Martha. "Who is your companion?"

"Ah, yes," said the Doctor, sounding much relieved to no longer be the focus of the conversation. "May I present Doctor Martha Jones?"

Martha bobbed the quickest curtsy of her life. "Your majesty."

Elizabeth's eyebrows – or what was left of them – raised. "A doctor?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Martha, her heart thumping.

Elizabeth walked up to her, until they stood nose to nose. "An unusual thing, to find a female in a man's profession – and I should know. It is not often I find one of my kind. Tell me, Doctor Jones, as I doubt your companion will tell me what I wish to know, since his head is shortly to be chopped off—" The Doctor swallowed nervously "—why are you in Cornwall, when the war approaches, if it is not as a spy?"

"Our friend has been taken hostage aboard one of the Spanish ships, ma'am," said Martha. "We seek to rescue her."

"Her?" Elizabeth glanced at the Doctor. "Doctor – do you mean to tell me Janie is on one of those ships?"

Martha glanced at the Doctor, but he was silent. Martha knew about Sarah Jane (who would never in her life have allowed herself to be called "Janie"), and of course there was  
Rose, and no one could forget Captain Jack Harkness, but she'd never heard of a companion named Janie. Judging from the blank look on the Doctor's face, neither had he.

"Doctor," repeated Elizabeth, and it was clear she was becoming more agitated and angry. "Is Janie on that ship?"

"Yes," blurted out Martha, not caring that it wasn't true, but instantly sensing that Elizabeth was concerned for the unknown Janie – and if Janie was perceived to be in danger (whoever she was), perhaps Elizabeth would let them go to help Rose. "Please, ma'am, you must let us help her."

Elizabeth scrutinized the Doctor – indeed, she hadn't taken her eyes off of him. "You promised me to keep her safe, with your very life," she said, the anger dripping. "And here you have let her slip away onto a Spanish galleon."

"Let me help her," said the Doctor quietly. "There is still time."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. "Then go. But your Doctor Jones remains with me until I see Janie safe again."

Martha swallowed, but the Doctor only gave a short nod before falling into a deep bow, and racing away from the retinue. Martha felt her heart sink, just a bit – he could have at least looked at her before scampering like a rabbit. There wasn't time to pity herself – Elizabeth had turned to her now.

"Doctor Jones," she said stiffly. "You will ride with me."

"Yes, ma'am," whispered Martha, and followed.

* * *

The cabin was small and unlit, the only light coming from a small, green-glassed window which looked out onto the murky waters of the English Channel. Rose had tried to open it in order to air out the dank, sour scent in the cabin, but it refused to budge, and she'd curled into a ball on the thin cot which was bolted to the wall. The room rocked back and forth, lazily, and if Rose closed her eyes, she could pretend she was in a hammock in Pete's back garden – a location instantly preferable to the room in which she was locked. No Doctor in Pete's world – but no Doctor aboard the _San Salvador_ either, not since his thoughts had been rudely cut off from hers as she boarded the galleon. Having him there, beside her, inside her, had been so comforting that when he'd been ripped away, she was left in shock, and as a consequence barely remembered the journey down into the ship.

Now, alone on the cot, watching the door warily, Rose had time to consider her options.

One, she could sit and wait for the Doctor to rescue her as promised.

Two, she could attempt to escape.

Three, she could – ah. No three. Rose abandoned the list and buried her head in her arms. Even in the shadows, she could see her stomach, and she swallowed, hoping the baby was all right. In another month, perhaps, she'd be able to tell on her own, but then, if the Doctor hadn't found her in another month, she'd be unable to enter the Vortex and thus doomed to give birth in the 16th century, and Rose wasn't altogether sure she liked that idea.

There was a knock at the door, and Rose wondered why a captor would bother knocking. She looked up in time to see a man slip inside. He was dressed a bit like a pirate, with large breeches and a filmy white shirt, with a vest holding everything but sleeves close to his skin. He wore a grin and a goatee, and in another life, Rose might have thought him handsome, or at least charming. At the moment, however, he was neither.

"Hello," said the man, in what Rose dimly recognized as a Spanish accent. "I am Captain Julio de Santiago, and I am your host while you remain on board. I do hope you find your accommodations adequate?"

Rose almost didn't answer, but he kept staring in a way that made her think that not answering would be unwise. She sat up, careful to keep her skirts around her legs, brushing them out as if there wasn't sand and seawater set in the fabric. "They're suitable, thank you."

"I am so glad. A gentleman wishes a lady to be comfortable. And you, my lovely English senorita, who might you be? More importantly, for whom do you spy?"

Rose swallowed. "Why would I be spying on your ship?"

"Senorita, you are very lovely, but surely you are not stupid," laughed the man, sounding quite calm. "You are aware that the _San Salvador_ is one of the greatest ships in the _Grande y Felicísima Armada_?"

Rose's mouth dropped open, just a bit. "Armada. I'm on the Spanish Armada. It's – oh no. It's 1588, isn't it? And I'm on the Spanish Armada – and I was just in Cornwall…."

"Ah, you admit! You are an English spy," said the man triumphantly. "I knew it. Julio, I said to myself, there is a lovely English lady who wanders on the shore, perhaps we should ask her a few simple questions. And here you are. Who are you spying for, my English lady?"

"I'm not spying!" insisted Rose.

"Ah, lady," sighed Julio, sounding much aggrieved. "Please, do not lie. I do not wish to torture you. It will not matter if you keep your secrets to yourself, lady, because you will not have cause to tell your employer about us before we depose your traitorous and ungodly queen from her throne. So, my lady, please. Tell me – for whom do you spy?"

Rose lifted her chin. "A gentleman wouldn't torture a lady." She clamped her mouth shut.

Julio shrugged. "Ah, but I wouldn't be the one doing the torturing. If that is what you wish, my lady, it can be arranged, but it can all be avoided, if you only tell me now – just a name, my lady. So simple, a name."

"You don't frighten me."

Julio raised a single eyebrow. "Don't I?" He lifted a hand, and snapped.

Rose felt a sharp kick to her side, knocking her to the floor, as if someone had hit her with a cricket bat. She cried out, instantly curling into a ball, trying to protect the baby, but there were no other attacks, and the pain, as quickly as it had come, disappeared, as if it had never been. She pushed herself up, just a bit, and stared at Julio, who remained on the other side of the room, looking bored and dispassionate, still in the same position he'd been in before Rose had fallen to the floor. She knew, without any sort of doubt, that he had not moved so much as a muscle, and could not have possibly been the one to strike her.

"A name?" he repeated, and moved his fingers as if to snap them again.

"The Doctor," gasped Rose, and he frowned.

"Doctor who?"

"That's all you'll get," said Rose, and she thought she saw his fingers flinch, but before the next strike could come, his expression altered, and he dropped his hand.

"Then I shall leave you, for now," he said, once again slipping into charm. "Allow me to help you stand?" He offered her a hand, but Rose didn't take it. He shrugged. "As you ish, my English lady. I trust you are not overly injured? Good. I shall return."

Rose flew at the door, but it closed behind Julio before she could reach it. She pounded against it with both fists. "_Let me out_!" she screeched, but no one came – which didn't surprise her, but she was too angry to really consider if anyone would. She pushed back from the door, trying to catch her breath, when she felt the odd vibrations from inside her stomacher. For a moment, she wondered if she felt the baby so soon – until she remembered her mobile.

"Doctor," she gasped into it.

"No, it's me," said Martha. "I didn't know if the mobile would work. He said your link was cut off—"

"The telepathy," said Rose. "And – I think the captain here, it's him. He hit me, but he didn't touch me, he was standing on the other side of the room."

Rose could hear Martha's sharp inhale. "He hit you?"

"Is the Doctor there?"

"No," said Martha. "He's coming to rescue you. He had to leave me behind – we rather got waylaid, and the only reason Elizabeth let him go was because she's holding me hostage."

"_Elizabeth_? As in, _Queen_ Elizabeth?"

"You weren't kidding when you said queens don't like him," said Martha. "I think this one wants to chop off his head."

"He'd just grow another one."

"That would suit her, she's like to chop it off a second time," said Martha. "I don't know how much time I have, Rose – are you all right?"

"I'm fine. They think I'm a spy."

"Oh, that's useful. Elizabeth thinks we're spies as well."

"She didn't believe you?"

"Neither did your captain, I imagine," said Martha. "Remind me why we travel with the Doctor again?"

Rose paused, sliding down to the floor against the door. "Because we love him," she said simply, and on the other end, Martha sighed in agreement.

* * *

Rose had been in danger before, and the Doctor had both rescued her and been the one to watch her be rescued, but this was different. At least, it _felt_ different, to him. This time, his fear was heightened, deepened, more real and terrible than any other time in which Rose might have died. This was worse, because now it wasn't just Rose in danger, and as the Doctor scrambled across the fields of Cornwall, running back to the TARDIS, his footfalls fell in time with the pounding voice in his head.

_thechildwilldieinbattle_

"No," he said, to every repetition. "NO!" he shouted to the wind above, when the words would not stop. "Rose isn't a child – _and she won't die_."

The beast laughed at him, and the words repeated themselves – _thechildwilldieinbattle_ – before fading away entirely, as the Doctor fell against the TARDIS doors, his hearts skipping a beat as he slowly realized that it was true – Rose wasn't a child any longer.

But there was a child in the midst of battle all the same.

The Doctor howled and raced into the TARDIS, flinging himself at the console where he began pushing buttons, turning dials and pumping levers. His synapses weren't firing entirely – he couldn't move quickly enough, he could barely remember the proper order in which to do anything, and the TARDIS was deliberately not helping. He could feel her resistance, from the moment he'd returned, her unwillingness to budge from the spot, and he picked up the mallet and swung it with extra vehemence onto the control panel, which resulted in a puff of smoke from below. Nothing burnt or shorted, but it was still a warning.

"Rose and the baby are in _danger_!" he shouted at his ship, but she seemed to know this already, and he could not for the life of him understand why she was reluctant to help. He kicked the gears in exasperation. "Don't you understand? If I can't rescue them today, there will be a _battle_ tomorrow, and they'll be in the thick of it!"

The TARDIS let out another puff of smoke.

"And Elizabeth doesn't even think I'm rescuing Rose – she thinks I'm going to save some chit named Janie – do _you_ know who this blasted Janie is?" he shouted finally, before falling on the jump seat in a heap. "Do you know what this means? This means I have a _history_ with Elizabeth. It means that this isn't the first time I've met her, which means I'll have to come back to her time _again_, and when I do, I'm going to have some bloody companion named _Janie_."

There was a soft whirring from the console, and the Doctor looked up to see one of the dials spinning rapidly. "Right," he said, and went over to it. "Rescue Rose. Rescue Martha. Janie comes later. Rescue Rose. She's on the _San Salvador_ – I saw it through her eyes before she boarded. Rescue Rose…."

The _whoosh whoosh_ began in earnest, and the Doctor found himself struggling, not only to keep the TARDIS's gears moving smoothly – it had been some time since he'd had to pilot the ship by himself – but to keep the coordinates steady. Every time he attempted to close in on the _San Salvador_, they kept spinning wildly out of control – he could feel the fear and confusion from his ship with every rebuttal, but at least she was willing to keep _trying_, and the Doctor pressed her on, urged her on, practically begging and cajoling in one breath, until finally the TARDIS gave a violent shake and turned onto her side, flinging the Doctor across the room and into a support beam. For a long, stretched moment, the Doctor stared at the console as it appeared in twenty places at once, felt an odd tug, as if something shifted, and then there was a solid thump as the TARDIS righted itself and landed.

"Oh, good," said the Doctor blankly, trying to catch his breath. "We're there."

* * *

By the time evening had fallen, Rose had stopped being frightened, and slipped into being annoyed. She was hungry. She was tired. She was thirsty. She was desperate  
to get out of the room. Martha had rung her mobile twice more, whenever the queen let her have five minutes to herself, and Rose was ready for the Doctor to just show up already and take her home. All the same, when the door opened, she scrambled onto the cot, pulled her knees up below her chin and watched warily as Julio stepped into the room. He smiled congenially at her and beckoned.

"Come along, senorita," he said kindly. "I thought a short tour of my ship would be in order."

"I won't go anywhere with you," said Rose.

Julio raised an eyebrow. "Ah, senorita, I'm afraid I must insist. Don't you wish to learn why you cannot communicate with your Doctor at the present time?"

Rose's hearts thumped, just a little, and she scrambled off the cot. "I'm not – I don't – you're talking nonsense. I'm not communicating with the Doctor. I'm not spying for him!"

"But you're off the cot now," said Julio smugly. "If you haven't communicated with the Doctor, that would be because I have stopped it. Walk beside me, please, senorita, it's not very far."

Blindly, her mind racing, Rose followed Julio out of her cell and down the corridors. She expected to see more sailors about, but except for the far-off shouting, the ship could have been empty but for the two of them. Julio was correct – it wasn't very far, and before she'd really had a chance to observe, Rose found herself in a much larger room with long windows and graceful arches, a large table bolted to the floor, upon which there were endless maps and quills and navigational instruments. There was a desk nearby, and a soft-backed chair, and in the far corner, a bed draped in silks and velvets.

"My quarters," said Julio grandly, obviously proud of the room. "And now, my lovely English senorita—" He took Rose by the hand and pulled her close to him, and Rose tried to pull away, suddenly well aware of the bed in the far corner of the room. He wrapped his other arm around her and held her close.

"Let me go!"

"No," he whispered.

Rose beat against his chest, but it was no use. He was stronger than she was, his eyes dark and filled with some sort of longing. His expression was odd, as well – he almost looked regretful, even as he leaned down with an obvious intent to kiss her. The thought of his lips on hers made her nearly sick to her stomach.

"Lovely senorita, I am so sorry, but I must know—" His lips inches from hers, Rose dug her fingernails into the palm of his hand, and he instantly let go of her. She pushed away and turned to run – and found herself facing a full-length mirror, framed by a thick urtain on one side. In it, she could see herself, looking ashen and afraid, and behind her – the body of Julio, but not the face.

"What—" gasped Rose, staring.

In the mirror, Julio's body was dressed in his cotton and steel. He clutched his scratched hand and did not advance upon her. But his face – Rose could make out the features of his face, but it was the ghostly image superimposed over it that froze the marrow in her bones, a grey, skeletal structure, as if Julio's skin had been ripped away, the bones expanded and extended past recognition as human. Rose turned to look at Julio over her shoulder, and saw only the man. She looked again in the mirror, and saw the specter inside.

"Who are you?" said Rose, struggling to sound brave over her fear.

"We are the Demuti," said the specter in the mirror, in a voice that sounded like Julio's, but was entirely different, as if twenty of him were whispering. "What have you done to the captain?"

"He allowed us in, he and those who call themselves Spanish. We direct their movements, we battle with their ships. We keep them safe from harm, we wrap them in protective fields so that others cannot control their movements or intentions."

Rose swallowed, instantly understanding that this was why her link to the Doctor had been cut off the moment she'd bordered the ship. "Why?"

"Because we wish them to win the day, so that we may have the necessary strength."

"Strength? For what? What strength?"

"His strength. Their strength. We use his force, his belief, his triumph to fuel our own. Without him we perish."

"You're – feeding on him?" Rose looked back at Julio again, almost frozen in his shock, still staring at his hand. "Won't that kill him?"

"He welcomes it," whispered the Demuti. "As will you, child, if you but let us in—"

Rose leapt forward and pulled the curtain over the mirror. She could hear the Demuti laughing behind it, and almost wanted to smash the mirror to pieces. Instead, she marched to Julio and slapped him soundly.

"Wake up!" she ordered, and he looked up from his hand, blinking.

"Senorita," he said, somewhat befuddled.

"You're being possessed," she told him. "Some odd alien is taking control of your body – you have to fight it!"

Julio laughed. "No, senorita – I do not know this word alien, but there are none here. Only you, and I, and my spirits."

"_Yes_, spirits – they're aliens, they're eating you up inside!"

Julio clucked in pity. "Ah, senorita – you have lived too long under your Protestant queen – have you forgotten entirely what it is to be touched by angels? My spirits are always with me – they are what fuel me, they whisper me on to greater triumphs. If I am aunted, it is by the saints I believe in – if I am being eaten up inside, it is by conviction to do this work in His name."

Rose backed away, just a bit. "They're going to _kill_ you."

Julio shrugged. "We all die, senorita. But my angels, they say I shall die blessed." He reached for her, and Rose tried to duck away, but he was too quick. "Shh, senorita. They only want to see—"

His fingers touched her hair, hot and gentle. Rose tried to pull away, but something held her to him, like a magnet, and she felt him searching inside her mind, looking up and down for something.

"Ah," he said, his face brightening. "There is your Doctor."

There was a voice from behind the curtained mirror. "Yes…a Time Lord. Where there is a Time Lord, there is also a TARDIS – we must have this TARDIS. The power inside—"

Julio shuddered suddenly, and his fingers dropped away. "Your Doctor will follow you anywhere with this TARDIS," he said. "So, senorita, you are perfectly safe here, with me. Quite safe, really." He grinned at her. "When my angels have this TARDIS safe in hand – why, then, you'll see how good and benevolent they can be!"

Rose swallowed and clutched at the velvet curtains, and hoped everything she knew about the Doctor was a lie, so that she could pretend he was safe, somewhere else, with no intention of pushing the TARDIS onto the _San Salvador_ with a plan to rescue her.

Julio did not seem to notice her fear, however, and he looked upon the maps and charts on his table with glee. "Tomorrow," he said, unable to hide the excitement. "Tomorrow the battle begins." He looked over at Rose, and she half expected his eyes to be shining, but they were dull and flat. "Tomorrow, pretty senorita, pretty Protestant child – you shall see a battle for your country's soul!"

* * *

"Oh, good," said the Doctor blankly, trying to catch his breath from the base of the support beam. "We're here."

The TARDIS gave a frantic hum, but he paid no attention, and sprang to his feet. "Rose is on the other side of those doors – next stop, Martha!"

The TARDIS again gave a desperate hum, and the gears and dials began to whirr anxiously. Again, the Doctor ignored his ship, and ran to the doors, flinging them open, to find himself on the deck of a Spanish galleon, with the waters of the Channel around him. For a moment, he broke into a grin.

"Fantas—"

The sound of cannon fire interrupted his excitement, and without hesitation he ducked and looked for its source. Slowly he walked toward the railing, staring open-mouthed at the scene before him.

The ship was several miles away from the scene of the battle, both Spanish galleons and English warships heavily armed and firing volleys back and forth. Dimly, the Doctor could hear the screams and chanting of the sailors as they shouted both orders and threats to each other, and the air was thick with black smoke and dark clouds behind. Where once there had been a peaceful, if tenuous, advance, now the Doctor was watching a full-scale battle before him.

"But this is impossible," he stammered. "The first skirmish isn't until the 31st of July."

"Then your calendar is impossible, Doctor," said a deep voice behind him, and the Doctor whirled around to stare at the man standing on the deck. "For today is the last day of July, and the skirmish, as you call it, has been going on for several hours."

He was tall and thin, the man who spoke, and wore the traditional breeches and shirt with heavy battle gear. The cloth was of the best quality, without a rip or tear to be seen, and his armor shone as though he'd not seen a moment of the battle yet. His hair was ginger and thinning, but his goatee was full, and his expression stern. His eyes might have been twinkling, but they looked intensely serious now.

"No," said the Doctor, just beginning to realize what the TARDIS had been trying to tell him. "No – it shoved me into the Vortex – by a _day_? I meant to land on the _San Salvador_."

The man shook his head. "You are on the _Rosario_. We captured it two hours hence."

"_Rosario_?" The man nodded. "Time has a sense of humor."

"Doctor," said the man, and the Doctor looked at him more closely.

"Have we met?"

"Am I that different?" said the man. "Vice Admiral Drake, second-in-command, privateer and captor of this formerly Spanish vessel."

"Formerly Spanish?" asked the Doctor. "You mean, you captured it?"

"I do believe I said that, yes," said Drake. "But you, Doctor – what are you doing here? The queen won't be best pleased to see you again."

"Yes, well," said the Doctor. "Slight problem. Companion of mine has been captured by the Spanish, I'm trying to rescue her."

"Ah – the _San Salvador_?"

"Exactly – but I seem to have been blown off course, so to speak. Can you point out which ship it is?"

Drake scanned the horizon. "There – on the far end to the right. With the great red flag—"

The Doctor glanced at the ship, sitting just far enough away from the action that he instantly felt somewhat better. If Rose was in danger, it was at least not immediate.

Then the _San Salvador_ exploded.


	8. Trusting Their Instincts

****

Disclaimer:

Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**Chapter Eight: Trusting Their Instincts**... In the aftermath of the explosion, Martha and the Doctor race to save Rose.

**A/N:** I am so, so dreadfully sorry. Life got in the way in the last few weeks. I'll be posting the rest of this story every day until it's done, and if I don't, please throw heavy objects at me. Seriously.

The _Rosario_ was also an actual ship in the Spanish Armada, as was the Duke of Medina Sedonia in charge of the Spanish expedition, and what happens to both the _Rosario_ and the _San Salvador_ is documented fact. Julio's still mine, though, although I'm willing to lend him out for parties.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Trusting Their Instincts**

The explosion of the Spanish galleon brought a gasp from the crowd watching from the shore. Martha's eyes went wide – she'd never seen such a spectacular explosion that she could recall, not in her travels with the Doctor, not even in the movies at home. Until then, she'd been able to pretend the battle on the water was simply a play running before her eyes, but amidst the various bits of debris and flames which shot out from the ship, she'd also seen limp and bloody figures. After a moment, one of the sentries shouted out, "Spanish!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, and beside Martha, the queen gave a brief, grim smile. "Not by our cannon," she said without emotion. "We are not so close to that particular ship. Sentry!"

"M'lady?"

"Pray tell which ship it was?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the sentry, and focused his sights on the burning ship in the distance.

"Was it their own cannon that caused the explosion, ma'am?" asked Martha. Elizabeth continued to scan the horizon.

"Perhaps."

"The _San Salvador_!" called out the sentry, and though the crowd cheered mightily, Martha suddenly couldn't hear them. Her eyes remained glued on the burning remains, and she strained to see if there was a figure in grey silk running around what remained of the once proud galleon.

"Good show," said Elizabeth, and Martha felt sick. "The _San Salvador_ burned, and the _Rosario_ captured. It appears they are leaving the Salvador in droves – we can board later and learn something from their remains. Doctor Jones, perhaps you would enjoy joining that party?" Elizabeth turned to look at her, and frowned. "Are you unwell?"

"The heat, ma'am," gasped Martha. "I – I suppose I'm a little faint."

"That will not do," said Elizabeth. "If you are faint, there are those who will say it can only be expected of a woman in your profession. Stand strong, Doctor Jones. Pray wipe the expression from your face – there is no pity for those who rally against England."

"No, ma'am," said Martha, and she bit her lip and pinched her leg, and continued to scan the sea. Rose was not dead – Rose could not be dead – the Doctor would not let Rose die. Martha watched, held her hand to her stomach, and waited.

* * *

The ship burned, black smoke twisting and curling into the air, hot as hellfire and thick as tar.

Half the ship was gone, leaving a jagged edge along the decks, and what remained was black with gunpowder and soot. The water below churned and boiled, as if it was on fire itself, and the froth that beat up against the remains of the ship were pink with blood. Everything that existed was either soaked with seawater or in flames.

Rose sputtered, trying to shove her damp hair from her eyes, struggling to move in her sodden skirts. The smoke was thick and difficult to breathe, and she coughed wildly as she scrambled through the now empty corridors, trying to determine which way led up to the deck. Everything was turned in circles, including her, and when she saw Julio walking towards her, calmly and serenely, she wondered if he was asleep or just a figment of her addled imagination.

"Captain!" she shouted at him, but he didn't even blink, nearly walking right by her without so much as a nod, and she grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. "_Captain_!"

"Ah, senorita," said Julio absently. "I must go down with the ship!"

His face changed for a moment, his dull eyes suddenly flashing blue with life, and in that moment, he looked as frightened and horrified as Rose felt. Then his eyes turned dull and black again almost instantly, and Rose felt sick. "Time to join my brethren," Julio continued. "My angels tell me I have served well and shall reap my reward."

"No, you won't," said Rose, and the ship lurched, shoving them both against the wall. When Rose righted herself again, she found the captain had been knocked out cold. She dragged him in the direction from which he'd come, and in a short distance found a ladder leading up. Julio was too heavy to carry, so Rose left him at the base and quickly climbed it herself.

The deck was far from empty, but there were still few sailors about, frantically racing to either put out a last fire, or jump into the last lifeboat. "Oi!" Rose shouted. "Help! The captain, he needs help!"

None of them heard her, and when Rose tried to lift herself higher, the ship lurched again, giving a wretched groan, and she slid back down into the corridor, where Julio was beginning to groan as he woke.

"Captain," she said, kneeling beside him. "Captain, we _must_ get off this ship. You must help me get off this ship."

It wasn't Julio who spoke, but the Demuti. "He has served us well, and wishes to join his brethren." Julio's eyes were open, dark and dull, and Rose remembered the life of the blue eyes she'd seen so briefly, and realized that the black was only a mask.

Rose stared at the dark, dull eyes of the Demuti, so perfectly calm in her anger and certainty that it shocked even her. "I can't get off this ship without him," she said slowly, "and if I die with him, you'll never have the TARDIS – _never_."

There was a brief pause. Rose thought she could see her reflection in the dark eyes, and began to shrink back, but Julio reached out with a quick hand and took her by the wrist, holding it in a vise-like grip.

"Very well," hissed the Demuti through his lips. "You make a valid point. But he will not thank you."

There was another groan from the ship, a flash of light, and Rose fainted.

* * *

The Doctor wasn't sure why he was on the dinghy, but Drake had been insistent, and the _Rosario_, with the TARDIS, was being towed back to port for repairs. Drake had every intention of using the galleon against the Spanish in a later battle, and the thought of using their own ship against them filled the pirate with such glee that the Doctor had debated telling him that it would only go down in another four months' time, just to see the man deflate.

But he didn't have the hearts for it. Let the man enjoy his bounty. The Doctor's own hearts had stopped when the _San Salvador_ exploded, and he wasn't certain why he was on the dinghy headed toward the still faintly burning wreckage, a day after the battle, but nonetheless, there he was.

"Handy to have a doctor with us," said a sailor, and Drake scoffed.

"We won't find survivors. Nor gold, I imagine. Determine what can be kept for salvage and what can be sunk, and that's all." He glanced toward the horizon. "Row faster – I see the queen's boat nigh, and I'll wager her men will take it all for themselves if they land first."

The Doctor was not rowing – he sat at the bow of the ship, his eyes keenly focused on the wreck of the _San Salvador_, on the remains of the stern where her name was painted in bright gold letters, just above the captain's quarters. He wondered where Rose had been on the ship – surely, if they thought she were important, she would have been treated well? Perhaps she wasn't in the brig below, which would have instantly flooded, perhaps there was a chance?

But there was nothing, not even a trace of nothing. Had Rose managed to leave the ship, the Doctor would have been able to sense her thoughts blinking into existence, a light bulb going on in a dark room. She had not done so; she had never left the ship again; she was gone. She had to be.

She had to be – and yet, the Doctor could not believe it. He supposed that was why he'd let Drake drag him along. If Rose had died, there would be trace of it on the ship. Her body, her clothes, her anything. He would know, no matter what the Beast had said to them so many years before. It was not this battle in which Rose would die, not today, not yesterday, not ever. The Doctor felt his hands clench on the rough wood of the dinghy, and ignored the splinters digging into his skin.

"Hell's bells," muttered Drake beside him as the other dinghy reached the wreckage. "Well, men, we've lost the spoils, but perhaps we'll find ourselves some information. Keep rowing!"

It was another five minutes before the Doctor reached the ship and hauled himself onto the main deck. The scene was mildly horrific, but he'd seen worse than this. Sailors were throwing charred bodies into the sea below, one by one. Others had managed to find spare maps and charts from below, and were carefully rolling them for transport. Still others were organizing the various weaponry that had been left behind in haste. The Doctor stood apart, watching all of this, trying to gauge where on the ship Rose had been, if she had left anything of herself behind, when he heard a familiar voice say his name.

"Doctor!"

He turned, and was nearly knocked over by Martha, who had thrown herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. "I thought – you might have been—"

"I was on the _Rosario_," he explained, his voice dull, and he realized it was the first thing he'd said since seeing the _San Salvador_ explode the previous day. "The TARDIS – we couldn't land here. Something kept pushing her back. Pushed her into the Vortex, actually. We landed there yesterday, in the thick of the battle, right before—" His voice choked.

Martha looked up at him. "There were fifty bodies, all charred, but none of them women. All men. I wasn't sure if—"

"She didn't die aboard the ship," said the Doctor, looking around. "I – I'd feel it. I'd know. She'd have left – a sort of signature behind her. It's not there. But I can't tell how she left. I don't know where she's gone. I – I can't find her."

Martha backed away from him suddenly, and dug into her pocket. "Doctor," she said, and pulled out her mobile, showing it to him. "Use this. It worked before the explosion. Maybe it still does."

The Doctor stared at the mobile for half a second before ripping it out of Martha's hands and walking a short distance away, pressing the numbers with trembling fingers. When he heard the line begin to ring, he closed his eyes in relief, and when Rose actually answered the phone, sounding groggy and disoriented, he almost couldn't speak.

"Rose," he finally managed, and on the other end, he heard Rose's voice catch.

"I'm sorry," she choked, and he could hear the sob in her voice. "Oh, I'm _sorry_."

"Rose," said the Doctor, dampening down his own relief and joy as soon as he heard the fear in her voice. If he was calm, she would remain calm – and more than anything, he needed her to remain calm. "It's all right. Tell me – where are you?"

Rose sniffed, and the mobile let out a feeble beep. "I – I don't know. We were on the _San Salvador_, and it was burning all around. And I said – I said they had to save us. They want the TARDIS, Doctor – they want its power source. I told them if I died, they'd never have it, that's why they saved us – but you can't let them have it, Doctor. Don't bring it here!"

"I won't, Rose. I promise. But where is here? Think, Rose. What do you see around you?"

Rose's breathing was near even now. "I – I think we're on a ship. I can feel it rocking back and forth, like before. And it's cold. Julio's shivering."

The Doctor frowned. The mobile had beeped again, and he couldn't quite make out Rose's words. "Julio?"

"He was captain on the _San Salvador_ – Doctor! They were controlling him. They're using his life force to feed, they're doing it to all the Spanish sailors."

"Who, Rose? Who's controlling them?"

"They blocked your thoughts from mine, Doctor, and I keep feeling you get further and further away from me. They want the TARDIS, Doctor, you mustn't let them take it—"

"Rose, you're hysterical, love, calm down," pleaded the Doctor as the mobile let out another frantic beep. "Tell me, who are controlling the Spanish captains?"

"They called themselves the Demuti—"

The line went dead.

"Rose? _Rose_!" The Doctor shook the little mobile, which had gone silent and dark, and Martha ran up to him, pulling it away.

"The battery is gone," she said. "It's been running low ever since this morning, and I couldn't charge it until we were back in the TARDIS."

"She's alive," said the Doctor, and Martha broke into a grin.

"She's alive?"

"We need to get back to the TARDIS, Martha Jones, and charge your mobile. We can use it to track Rose's last location – and we can use _that_ to rescue her."

"But where _is_ she?"

The Doctor stared at the mobile for a moment, his mind racing. "For now, she's safe," he said finally. "But I know the Demuti. They exist only in the body of a living being, feeding off the resident life force until they grow so powerful no one can dislodge them. If the Demuti learn she is pregnant – there are few forces greater than a gestating Time Lord. If the Demuti learn about the baby, neither of them will be safe for much longer."

* * *

It took Rose a moment to catch her breath, once she'd lost the connection on her mobile. She wrapped her hands around it and held it close to her chest, almost as if she was holding the Doctor there, and tried to regulate her breathing. It wasn't easy; she wanted to cry and scream, but neither of those actions would help her at all. What she needed more than release was to determine where exactly she was, so that when the mobile rang again, she could give the Doctor clearer instructions.

Rose slid the mobile back into her stomacher, and crept over to where Julio lay slumped on the floor. There was a cut above his eye, and some of his clothing appeared singed, but there were no other signs of distress Rose could see, and she thought he would be all right, provided she could wake him. Carefully, she shook his shoulder.

"Julio," she whispered. "Wake up!"

His eyes sprung open almost immediately, and Rose was relieved to see that they were no longer black, but blue. He inhaled sharply, as if he'd been holding his breath while sleeping, and his hands cradled his head.

"Am I dead?"

"No," said Rose.

"Where are we?"

"I don't know."

"They're gone," he muttered suddenly, almost keening, and Rose shook him again.

"What's gone?"

"My angels – they're gone. I don't feel them – they've left me. They've left me – I should have died."

"Don't say that," snapped Rose. "They weren't spirits – they're some sort of alien taking over your mind. And they brought you here with me, obviously they think you're better off alive than dead."

"Better alive than in heaven?" retorted Julio. "That is not a gift – that is punishment!" He sat up and looked around. "We're on a ship."

"One of yours, I think," said Rose.

Julio stood, one hand still to his head, and went to the small window, peering out. "I can see nothing – we are butted against another ship. I believe we are tied together."

"Why?"

Julio shrugged. "Protection? I do not know. If I had my spirits, they might tell me – but whatever ship this is, it has a captain, and he will know."

"Then let's find the captain and find out where we are," said Rose.

Julio shook his head. "No, my lady. I cannot protect you without my spirits guiding me."

Rose stamped her foot. "They are _not_ spirits. They're not heavenly beings sent to guide you on a mission – they were feeding off of you, they were sapping your energy, like leeches—"

"None of your Protestant trap here," said Julio quickly. "Come, my English lady – the spirits wanted you, and they have guided you and I to this ship. If they left me alive, as you say, then perhaps it _is_ with good reason – so that I may deliver you to the captain." Julio grabbed Rose's forearm and smiled. "Perhaps I'll have my reward yet!"

He flung open the door and pulled her into the corridor, and they were both hit with the strong smell of dirt and decay, of blood and gunpowder. Rose was nearly sick from it, and even Julio seemed to be somewhat unsteady on his feet for a moment, but he pulled Rose along, and she tried desperately to stay on her feet. They had not gone very far when a sailor stepped out from another cabin and, seeing them, stopped dead in shock.

"Wh-who?" gasped the sailor, and Julio stood straight.

"I am Captain Julio de Santiago of His Majesty's great galleon _San Salvador_," he said. "My ship has been lately lost and I demand to see your captain."

The man's eyes widened in fright, and he began to stumble backwards. "Be gone!" he shouted at them. "Be gone, spirits! Haunt me no longer!"

Julio's brow furrowed. "My spirits have left me, good man. I mean you no harm."

"Be gone," shouted the man again, reaching the ladder behind him, and he scrambled upwards without looking back.

"He looks like he saw a ghost," said Rose.

Julio glanced at her. "Perhaps he did," he mused. "Follow him up the ladder, lady."

"Oh, no," said Rose. "You first."

Julio didn't blink; he simply picked her up and placed her several rungs up the ladder, putting his arms around her legs so she could not climb back down. Rose resisted the urge to kick him and climbed, finding herself on the deck of the ship. She had to stop before she was all the way up, so great was her shock, and she nearly lost her grip and fell back down. Somehow, she managed to finish the climb, and when Julio reached the deck, he let out a string of curses which she barely heard or understood.

They might have climbed upwards into Hell itself. The ship was at the epicenter of a sea of galleons, tied together and moving as one through the rolling waves. The sky above was dark with heavy, grey clouds, and the wind whipped around them so strongly it might have picked Rose up and carried her away had she attempted to stand. It was much colder on deck than it had been below, and the air itself felt heavy and damp. Bloodstains covered the deck, and there was evidence of fire which scorched the masts and rope lines. Rose could hear the men shouting, and above that, the high-pitched screams that were not entirely human, but eerily familiar.

"The horses," breathed Julio. "They're tossing the horses overboard."

Another scream filled the air, and Rose winced. "Why?"

"Either they cannot feed them, and drowning is a faster death, or they are injured and cannot waste the bullets," replied the captain, and Rose covered her ears, not wanting to hear the equine screams any longer.

Slowly, the men on the deck began to turn to them, staring at first, then slowly backing away, filled with the same fear as the first sailor. Julio slowly rose to his feet, keeping a hand on Rose's shoulder, and looked at all of them in turn.

"What ship is this?" he called out. "And where is its captain?"

"Dead," called out one of the men. "So you should know, spirit."

Julio frowned. "How should I know he is dead?"

The man who saw them below deck spoke. "The _San Salvador_ burned – and its crew with it, including its captain. If you are who you say you are, you're dead with them."

Rose glanced up at Julio, and was surprised to see him smiling. "Then I am dead, for I _am_ the captain of the _San Salvador_. As such, I demand to see who is in charge here."

There was silence for a moment, and no one moved. Then, toward the rear, a younger man – really, a boy – moved away from the rest and began to scramble over the rigging to the next ship. He paused to look back at them.

"Float if you must, Spirits, but follow me, and I'll take you to him," he said, the brave words belying the trembling Rose saw in his legs. Julio offered a hand to Rose, and together they began to follow the boy. Rose could feel every sailor's eye on her as she left the ship, and she wasn't certain if they watched her because she was a ghost, or because she was a woman. It was Julio's warm hand in hers that convinced her that only the latter could possibly be true.

The boy did not take them far – just one ship over, and then into the captain's quarters at the stern. The rooms were similar to those aboard the now-lost _San Salvador_, but there was no bed visible, and the table holding the maps was larger and more highly decorated. There were half a dozen men in the room, all of whom looked gaunt and tired. There were stains on their clothes, so darkened that it was difficult to tell if it was blood, smoke, or gunpowder. One of the men stood suddenly, his dark eyes focused squarely on Julio.

"Santiago," he breathed. "How can this be?"

Julio's eyes widened, and instantly he went down on his knees, pulling Rose with him. "My lord Duke," he said quickly, bowing his head, but Rose kept her eyes on the standing man. "I bring you a gift, but first ask your pardon."

"Stand," said the duke. "If the spirits have taken you, there is no need for you to kneel to me. Nor was there ever."

Julio stood, but kept his hand firmly on Rose's shoulder, keeping her on the ground. "My lord duke," he said. "Pray tell, what has happened here?"

"You do not know?" said the duke, surprised. "You could not see our suffering from heaven?"

"You think we were in _heaven_?" said Rose, and Julio clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Protestant infidel," he said smoothly. "She does not understand. My lord duke?"

The duke walked around the table and tentatively reached for Julio, who took his forearms with a fierce grip. The duke gasped. "Flesh and blood – how is this possible?"

"All things are possible," said Julio.

"I did not think I would see you again." Tears sprang to the duke's eyes, and Rose wondered how the man was able to feel so much emotion when still controlled by the Demuti. Perhaps it had only been Julio – but Rose doubted it. There was something in the back of her mind bothering her about the duke, only she couldn't remember what it was. "When I saw your ship burning three weeks hence—"

"Three weeks?" blurted out Rose, and this time, no one covered her mouth.

The duke glanced down at her. "Who is this girl?"

Julio's face had gone slack. "Don Alonso," he gasped, losing his formality. "Three weeks? It's been – three weeks since my ship—"

The duke turned to the retinue behind him. "A chair!" he barked, and quickly a chair was brought forth, and Julio was lowered into it. Rose slumped on the floor next to it, unable to take her eyes off the duke, and suddenly she remembered her fifth form history lessons.

"Duke of Medina," she said, and he glanced at her.

"Medina Sedonia," he corrected her, almost gently. "Who are you?"

"Rose," she replied, without thinking, and he smiled.

"An English Rose? Were you martyred for your faith by the Protestant queen? Is that why you return with my friend to help us?"

Rose didn't answer him.

"Don Alonso," said Julio. "Tell me – what has happened in the last three weeks?"

The duke turned his gaze to Julio, his dark eyes instantly clouding over. "We have lost," he began, his voice suddenly heavy and tired. "Eleven ships at Gravelines were lost. Half the men are dead, a quarter of my captains. We have food and water for two weeks. My aides tell me that our only hope is help from the Irish if we are to make for Spain. The English close in on us even now."

He reached and grabbed Julio's arm again. "But, my friend, you are here. The angels have brought you back to us – all hope cannot be lost. They tell me even now, that you bring hope."

Julio's face lit up as Rose's hearts sank. "Your spirits are still with you?"

"Yes!"

He grinned, and took the duke's forearm. "All hope is _not_ lost, my lord duke. This is why they have returned me now, here, and with this girl. The English double in on us, and expect to find us weak and without reserves – but _this girl_ is the key – she is the bait with which we set our trap – it is _this girl_ which our spirits need in order to allow us to prevail."

Rose was suddenly aware that every man in the room was staring at her, with eyes hungry for power, not lust, and she dug her fingernails into the chair, her hearts pounding in her ears.

"What is this girl?" asked the duke. "What bait can she be?"

"The Doctor," said Julio, and the air filled with the suddenly whispering, _Doctor Doctor Doctor_, the men around the room repeating the word, and below their chants, Rose thought she could hear the gratingly harmonious whisper of the Demuti saying the same.

"He won't come for me," she said bravely. "He's too clever for any trap you might set."

The duke smiled at her. "Oh," he said softly, but it was not his voice which Rose heard, but the multiple whisper of the alien being who possessed him, so much like the one which had possessed Julio before that Rose's hearts nearly stopped. "Oh…we rather think he might."


	9. With His Winds

**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13  
**Chapter Nine: With His Winds**... The Oncoming Storm takes his revenge.

**A/N:** The title of this chapter and of Chapter Seven are part of an Elizabethan phrase regarding the fate of the Spanish Armada. Because once I started doing the research, it was just TOO obvious.

I apologize for the lack of response on my part, and the randomness of posting these chapters. My fall has been somewhat hectic, although that's not much of an excuse, I know. Please forgive me, and I'll try to do better in the coming weeks.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: With His Winds**

The TARDIS's systems were more complicated than Martha had ever understood, but even she knew when the ship was having trouble. Her mobile had been plugged into the circuitry for ten minutes, with the Doctor typing furiously at the console, his glasses perched on his nose, before the grin swept over his face.

"Hang on tight," he said, barely glancing at her. "If it's half as bumpy as it was before, we're in for a ride."

Martha wrapped her arm around the nearest strut, and watched as the various gears and devices began to spin. The Doctor raced around the console, trying to hold the ship together, and when Martha saw the wheels turning, she let go of the strut and fell onto the console to help.

"Hold that down!" shouted the Doctor. "I'm not sure where it's taking us!"

"How can you not be sure!" yelled Martha. "Didn't you _check_?"

"Not in so many words!"

"Are you completely insane, or just stupid!" Martha yelled, and the TARDIS landed with a thump, nearly knocking itself over in the process. They both fell to the floor, and Martha banged her elbow hard against the grating. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. The Doctor, she knew, wasn't going to notice, and she wasn't about to stoop to pointing it out to him. He'd already jumped to his feet and was flinging the doors open.

"_What_?" she heard him shriek, and she jumped to her feet, pulled her mobile out of the TARDIS console, and shoved it in her jeans pocket before joining the Doctor outside.

The world was green and grey with very little in between. The grass beneath supplied the green, rich and thick and never-ending. The grey was the sea beyond, which blended into the sky. Martha might have thought the sea continued above their heads, the color being exactly the same. There was a wind whipping down the rolling green landscape, lifting her hair as well as the Doctor's, and it was unusually cold for the beginning of August. The air felt dense and thick, and carried the dusty, musty smell of rain on the horizon.

"Scotland," said the Doctor with wonder. "We're in Scotland."

"Where's Rose?" asked Martha, but before the Doctor could answer, there was a shout from behind the TARDIS. They both turned to see a royal guard approaching on horseback, galloping quickly toward them.

"Halt! Identify yourselves!" the guard barked at them as soon as the horse pulled up.

The Doctor instantly put his hands in the air, and Martha followed suit. "I'm the Doctor and this is Martha Jones."

The guard nodded curtly. "Come with me."

The Doctor gave him a quick once-over. "Ah, no, I think I'll stay, thanks much."

"Apologies, Doctor," said the guard, and the sound of galloping reached them moments before the sight of ten other guardsmen appeared over the crest of the hill. "We are under orders from Her Royal Grace, Queen Elizabeth, to escort you and your companions, should you have them, to her side as soon as possible."

"Escort?" asked Martha wryly, and the Doctor glanced back at the sea behind him.

"Right then," he said. "Lead on, good sir."

* * *

Martha wasn't sure how she knew the queen was angry, because Elizabeth angry looked much the same as Elizabeth calm. It might have had to do with the absence of lips when she was angry. Certainly, Elizabeth was pinching her mouth so tightly, it didn't look like she had a mouth at all.

"Where is Janie?" she demanded the moment that the Doctor and Martha stepped into the royal tent, less a tent than a mobile castle. "You have tried our patience, Doctor, and overstepped your bounds in removing Doctor Jones from our company before we released her from service. We demand to know your whereabouts for the last three weeks."

The Doctor blinked. "Three weeks?"

"Yes, three weeks," snapped Elizabeth. "The last anyone saw of you was aboard the deck of the _Rosario_, and now three weeks later we find you gallivanting across the Scottish shore. Doctor, you grow too fond of your head being attached to your shoulders. Furthermore, you still have not said where Janie is."

"We know where Janie is," said Martha quickly. She fell to her knees before the queen, and reached up to try to pull the Doctor down as well, but he did not budge. "We have spent the last three weeks tracking her here, Majesty, waiting for the proper time to rescue her. Our man aboard the Spanish ship has given us what information we need, and our plans have been laid."

Elizabeth rested her cool eyes on Martha for another moment before flashing to the Doctor. "Is what she says true?"

"Oh, you can trust Martha Jones," said the Doctor. "Just a bit of time, that's all we need."

"Time, Doctor," said Elizabeth curtly, "is one thing of which you never seem to run out. We will let you go, but you will return here with Janie safe, Doctor. I must have your word."

"Or I will chop my head off for you myself, your Grace," replied the Doctor, far too cheerful for Martha's liking, and when Elizabeth nodded, he took Martha's hand and ran back out of the tent, racing in the direction of the TARDIS on the shore.

As soon as they were out of sight of the encampment, Martha slowed, holding her side. She could tell the Doctor was itching to keep running, but he stayed nearby, waiting for her to catch her breath. "Really, Martha, falling to your _knees_?"

"What are we going to do?"

"Save Rose," he said automatically, eyes scanning the horizon, where they could just make out the sea.

"Right," said Martha. "How? And how do we produce Janie if you don't have her yet?"

The Doctor glanced at her. "What do you know?"

"Not very much, apparently."

"You were with Elizabeth for a entire day and not once did it occur to you, 'Oh, hello, perhaps I should ask how Elizabeth knows Janie'?"

"Even if I did," said Martha, irritable, "it's not like I could tell you anything about her without messing up the time lines, could I?"

The Doctor grimaced at her, and turned back to the horizon. Martha stood straight up, gingerly feeling the stitch in her side, before remembering the mobile in her jeans. "My mobile's recharged – we could try calling Rose again."

"I'm trying," muttered the Doctor. "I can't feel her out there. Whatever was blocking me from sensing her before – it's still there."

Martha sighed and flipped open the phone, listening to it ring Rose's mobile. As she waited, the Doctor turned around to look at her, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets, eyes creased and worried.

"She's not answering," said Martha, unable to look at him.

"I know," replied the Doctor, voice thick.

"She always answers."

"She does."

"Doctor—"

"He said she'd die in battle," said the Doctor suddenly. He turned back to the sea. "On Krop Tor – the Beast. Satan. Whatever you want to call it. The child would die in battle. Then there was a battle, Martha – at Torchwood, when your cousin died. Rose died too. I lost her."

"She didn't die," said Martha, lowering the mobile. The connection to Rose's mobile continued to ring. "You got her back."

"There was a battle three weeks ago."

"You talked to her afterwards."

"Do we know that for sure?"

Martha snapped the ringing mobile shut and grabbed the Doctor by the shoulder, swinging him around. "Stop it," she hissed. "Rose is alive. Do you hear me? Rose is _alive_. She's out there somewhere, and we're going to find her. I don't know what told you that Rose would die, but you know what? We all die eventually, even you. But it's _not_ going to be today. So pull your thick head out of the bloody sand and _move_."

The Doctor blinked for a moment, and the lost, haunted look in his eyes disappeared. He looked down at Martha, and for a moment, Martha thought she was seeing a different Doctor – an older one, a wiser one, and a far more frightening one.

"Thank you, Martha," he said, his voice oddly calm.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Doctor?"

"Oh, she's still not there," he said, and he took her hand. "But you're right. She won't die today. And I know how to find her."

* * *

Rose breathed a sigh of relief when her mobile stopped vibrating in her stomacher. It tickled, and the last thing she wanted to do just then was laugh. After all, it doesn't look very well when the prisoner laughs as she is tied to the mast on the flagship of the Spanish Armada. Not very well at all.

Even if her hands had not been firmly tied down, Rose would not have answered the call. It would only be the Doctor, and the last thing Rose wanted was for him to learn where she was, and therefore come to rescue her, bringing the TARDIS with him. She was safe, as long as the TARDIS remained very far away. The duke believed the TARDIS would come for her – he wasn't far wrong. Rose believed it too, and that was the problem.

Grimly, Rose watched the captains on the far end of the deck, all arguing amongst themselves. She wasn't sure what they were saying – they were too far away, their accents were too thick, and the wind was picking up enough to blow their voices away from her. Besides, Rose didn't much want to know – she suspected they argued about her, and what to do with her. Julio was in the thick of it, arguing just as loudly if not more so than the rest, but none of them seemed to pay him any heed, as if he were truly the ghost they believed him to be, and not an actual captain any longer.

Perhaps that was why he gave up after some time and walked over to her, looking upset and grim.

"Are your bonds comfortable, senorita?" he asked courteously through gritted teeth, and Rose couldn't decide if she felt sorry for him or just annoyed.

"Oh, they'll do," she said airily. "How goes the reunion over there?"

Julio glanced back at the captains. "They look right through me sometimes, as if I do not exist. Perhaps I don't."

"I'm fairly certain I exist, and if I'm here, so are you," said Rose.

"How is that? How did we come by here, lady?" asked Julio, his eyes boring down into hers. "I recall only my ship in flames, and you in the corridor, and then you woke me below deck. Did I die?"

"No," said Rose.

"They believe I did. Perhaps it is true. But – I do not remember heaven. If I was in heaven and charged to come here, as they believe – as I told them – I do not remember it."

"You didn't die," repeated Rose.

"Then how were we on the burning _San Salvador_ three weeks ago, only to wake up here and now off the shores of Scotland?"

Rose sighed, glancing over at the captains. "Look at them, Julio. Really look at them. Can't you tell? There's something wrong, when you look in their eyes, like they're wearing masks."

Julio frowned. "We wear no masks. We have no need for them."

"You hide behind your spirits, what are those if not masks?" countered Rose. "The worst sort, too – they're masking what they really are, even to you who wear them. They're not good spirits, Julio – they're lying to you. They're something far more sinister and alien, and they're feeding off of you the whole time."

Julio turned sharply and stepped away from her. Rose bit her lip, certain she'd said too much. Julio was the enemy – but he was still the closest thing to an ally she had on the Armada, and the only one other than the Duke who dared speak to her.

"We'll let you go when your Doctor comes with his TARDIS," said Julio, his voice short and clipped. "The spirits want only the TARDIS, not you."

"He won't come," said Rose. "He can't. He won't let you take the TARDIS from him."

Julio laughed. "Not even to save you? He loves you, I saw it."

"You didn't see everything," said Rose before she thought, and Julio turned back to her.

"What do you mean? Explain yourself, senorita."

"Nothing," said Rose quickly, but Julio's fingers reached out to her again, and though she strained against the ties, she could not dart away from him. His fingertips were warm despite the chill, and wet with sea spray. Rose braced herself, trying desperately to hide her last secret deep, burying it under everything else she ever knew, and thought she'd succeeded when she saw Julio frown.

"I see nothing," he said, but even Rose could tell he was unconvinced, and it did not surprise her when he turned to the captains. "Brothers!" he shouted to them, his voice carrying on the wind. "The woman hides something! Come closer, and learn from her. I cannot see it."

The captains immediately stopped their arguments, and strode forward. As the duke, who led them, came closer to Rose, she could see more clearly the dark, blank look in his eyes, the taut skin across his cheekbones. She wondered if perhaps the Spanish were the ones who were the ghostly dead, and not she and Julio, and she straightened her back, prayed she'd buried the baby far enough under everything else, and waited for the onslaught to reach her.

The duke's cold, clammy hand clapped on her cheek. Rose recoiled, struck by the memory of the Doctor doing so in a completely different context. The duke's hand stuck to her, however, and she closed her eyes tight, not wanting to see him standing opposite her. It was different from when Julio had done it back on the _San Salvador_ – there, she'd barely been able to feel him sift through her thoughts, but now the duke invaded them and tossed discarded ideas from one side to the other, as Rose raced behind trying to tidy the mess. He was far stronger than Julio had been, which made some degree of sense – the Demuti had lived in the duke's body for three weeks longer. Just as Rose began to worry that she hadn't done well enough, the duke let out a breaking laugh and pulled away from her, out of her mind, and turned to the others.

"Brothers," he hissed in the flowing, slithering Demuti voice. "She is with child – the Time Lord's child!"

The captains murmured together. "_A child…a child…a child…_"

Rose opened her eyes to see Julio staring at her, his face drained of color. His eyes darted back and forth between Rose's face and her stomach. Rose held her breath, suddenly desperately afraid of the rest of the men, but any thought she might have had for his assistance was dashed when he spoke.

"A gift," he said, low.

"Not for you," replied Rose, and turned away. The only place left to turn, however, was to the duke and the captains, now advancing behind him, circling around her, closing in. Their faces were skeletal, with manic wide grins and gaunt, sunken cheeks. The eyes were dark and hollow, and they resembled the creature Rose had seen in the mirror more than they did human beings.

"We shall use her before the TARDIS arrives," announced the Duke, and the captains behind him linked themselves together, hands touching shoulders, to form a massive chain as the Duke leaned toward Rose and locked his cold lips over hers.

It was not a kiss – there was no exchange, not of love nor hate. Their lips simply touched, two open pipes butting against each other. Rose could feel her very breath flow from her like water, spilling out into the duke. The only thing holding her up was the thick ropes around her arms and waist, and she dared not close her eyes, which widened as she saw the Duke grow darker and larger as he fed. A dull glow emanated from behind him, as the captains fed from him through their links, and as Rose began to faint, she realized the glow was turquoise.

_Her_ turquoise – her glow, her force, her life. They were eating her away.

Just before Rose blacked out entirely, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the TARDIS materialize. And then she was gone.

* * *

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS onto the deck of the ship, his face set, Martha close behind. She carried a duffel with her, and before anyone noticed them, she had scurried away, just to the side, taking care to stay low and unnoticed, and the Doctor afforded one glance at her before he tore his eyes away. She had her own work to do.

The Doctor couldn't quite see Rose behind the captains, but he could see the turquoise glow around them, and instantly recognized it for what it was. It was everything he could do not to lash out then and destroy them, but to do that would be to certainly kill Rose as well, and besides, he had a better plan. He took a single step out and put his hands in his trouser pockets, and called out. "Let go of her."

The Duke broke away from Rose, more Demuti than human, and Rose slumped over, unmoving. The captains moved to the side, grins stretching across their faces, and he heard their collective, hissing voices call out in tandem, "_Tarrrrrdiiissss…_"

"Mine," said the Doctor. "All of which you have taken from me – mine. I demand you return it to me."

The Duke laughed and stretched his arms wide. "We have taken for a greater cause."

"I doubt that."

"For the life of my species."

"What sort of species is that, one who feeds on others to survive?" challenged the Doctor. "You create war and chaos and leave only destruction in your wake. You feed on the very lives of those you inhabit. Such a species does not deserve to continue."

"Do you refer to us, Doctor, or yourself?"

"I don't kill in order to survive," said the Doctor.

"I beg to differ," said the Duke smoothly. "The Nestene Consciousness, the Gelth, the Sycorax, the Rachnoss. The Daleks, Doctor. The Time Lords – all dead, by your hand. You are not above us."

The Doctor stared at the Duke, never flinching. "I do not take innocent lives." He could see, just barely, movement near Rose, and thought it might have been her bonds falling away. He did not take a closer look.

"She was not so innocent," said the Duke. "She is more like you than she cares to admit – and she will leave you in the end, Doctor, make no mistake."

The Doctor smiled then, noting the tense. "Oh, yes," he said, his voice just a bit warmer. "I'm sure she will. I'll give you one chance. Leave this planet and these people, or join the list."

The Duke grinned. "No."

The Doctor saw Martha then, just to the side, and she grinned at him too – but this grin was far different, and the duffel was limp at her feet. The Doctor turned back to the Duke and shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and aimed the cellular disruptor at the darkening sky, firing. Instantly the clouds began to roll and rumble. They flashed with lightening and electricity, and the air around them became charged. The pressure began to drop, and with it, the wind picked up. Save the Doctor, who stood firm through all of this, every person faltered, stumbling just a bit, and the Doctor could see another man – Julio, perhaps – trying desperately to support Rose as he fell toward Martha, who just barely caught them.

"Bit nippy, isn't it?" the Doctor shouted above the wind. "Shift in the weather? Storm's coming in. Last chance, Captain. Time to go."

"Perhaps," said the Duke, and lunged for the Doctor, who easily spun and pulled the cutlass from the sailor's belt before letting the man stumble back away.

"Sluggish?" he commented, twirling the weapon. "Air pressure seems to have dropped a bit – odd for so far north. Wouldn't expect a hurricane off Scotland, would you?"

He could see Martha and Julio plainly now, with Rose between them. Her head hung to her side; she was clearly unconscious, but they were at the TARDIS doors now. Martha stopped, resting against them, watching the Doctor and waiting.

The Duke lunged for the Doctor again, and fell to the deck. The Doctor stood over him, resting his foot on the man's neck, and pointed the cutlass at him. He was breathing rapidly, gasping for air, and the Doctor stared, his mouth a thin line.

"You lose," said the Doctor quietly, and there was a crack and shake of thunder above.

Around them, the captains began to fall to the deck, one by one, their bodies hitting the ground with thumps as the air pressure around the ships fell rapidly. Martha and Julio, protected by the TARDIS, would not lose consciousness, but the Doctor watched with stern eyes as the rest of the crew were unable to keep their wits in the vacuum. The duke's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and the Doctor stepped back, his cutlass rising to follow the ghostly form of the Demuti as it left the unconscious body and rose to join its kin in the air. A thin, turquoise loop circled them, but slowly dissipated, flowing like raindrops toward a point behind the Doctor, back to Rose.

The thunder continued to roll, and the wind howled around them. The Doctor kept the cutlass high. "Leave this ship!" he roared as the rain began to fall.

"With our TARDIS or not at all," hissed the Demuti, speaking as one.

"I told you before," said the Doctor. "_My TARDIS_."

The lightening struck, crackling down to the ship, and instantly found the metal disks which Martha had placed in a circle around the captains. The discs sparked and flared into life, shooting out frissons of energy back and forth between each other, creating a bright glowing web which went over the comatose bodies on the deck and through the ghostly grey Demuti, who began to scream as they burned away to dust. Lightening continued to strike at the disks, over and over, until it looked as if the Demuti themselves were on fire. The last to burn was the largest ghost of all, who raised his hand to point at the Doctor before he turned to ash and blew away.

The rain fell, dampening the embers, and the wind grew stronger still. The Doctor dropped the cutlass, suddenly able to breathe again as the air rushed in. He turned back to the TARDIS, his only thought being Rose, just as a final strike of lightening hit the mast, which cracked and fell to the deck between them.

"Doctor!" screamed Martha, still holding Rose. "The ships are breaking apart! We have to get out of here!"

There was one last thing, the Doctor realized, before he could go. "Working on it!" he shouted back to Martha, and he knelt beside the prone body of the duke. A quick blast with the sonic screwdriver, and the duke began to blink, slowly waking.

"Who—"

"Never mind," said the Doctor quickly. "Wake your men and take your ships apart. I cannot stop the storm coming and most of you will not survive."

Martha's voice cut through everything. "_Doctor_!"

The Doctor sprang to his feet and scrambled over the mast, pushing Martha, Rose and Julio inside, never once looking back to see if the Duke had listened to his words. He did not see the Duke rise and stare as the TARDIS faded from sight, nor did he see as the others were slowly prodded to wakefulness as the ships were tossed from wave to wave in the worst storm the Spanish had ever known.

* * *

Julio de Santiago watched from shore as the Spanish Armada was destroyed. It did not take long. Once tied together for protection, the storm broke the ships apart and scattered them to the winds, pulled the mastheads down and flung sailors to the mercy of the waves. The same rain which drowned his countrymen rolled down Julio's skin, but he did not shiver or huddle into the blanket for warmth. He merely watched until the storm had passed, and all that lay on the horizon were a fraction of the ships which had been there before it began.

He heard footsteps behind him, and knew it was the girl called Martha, the one who had given him the blanket when he had refused to go inside the blue box on the grassy shore. He did not turn to look at her. "Most of them won't survive the trip back to Spain," said Martha. "They'll crash off of Ireland, and the Irish will kill the rest."

"Don Alonso," said Julio.

"The duke? Oh, he lives. Your king even forgives him, if I remember correctly."

Julio wrapped the blanket tighter then. "Don Alonso – he would not have tried to hurt her. Not a pregnant woman. He—"

"He wasn't himself," said Martha, sitting next to him. "There was something possessing him. All of them."

"We welcomed it," said Julio slowly. "We trusted they were angels, and we welcomed them. But I saw them change, as they killed her. I saw what they were. They were demons."

"Not demons," said Martha. She bit her lip. "It's not your fault. Most of us – we would have done the same, I think. We all want to believe we're doing the right thing."

"I have lost my faith."

Martha found his hand and squeezed it, suddenly inexplicably sad.

"The lady – Rose. Is she—"

Martha hesitated. "She'll be all right. She's asleep now."

"And the child?"

"Baby too."

Julio let out the breath he'd been holding. He could hear galloping in the distance, but did not turn to look at it. The only thing he wanted to see was the ships on the distant horizon.

"Don't go back to Spain," said Martha, low, before scrambling to her feet and turning toward the approaching horses. "And _get up_."

He did not move, and so he did not see who rode the horses which had stopped behind him. Nor did he see who walked toward them with rustling footsteps.

"Doctor Jones," said the cool voice, in tones which he could not place as male or female. "You survived the Protestant Storm."

"Ma'am," said Martha, and Julio felt her kick him.

"The hand of God, I think," continued the voice, and Julio kept his eyes on the remains in the water. "Or your Doctor? I wonder. Who is this?"

"Our spy aboard the Spanish vessels, ma'am," said Martha.

Julio looked sharply up to Martha. "Spy?"

The other woman sniffed. "We thought as much. I have trusted the Doctor before, and look what has been my reward. Does this spy of yours stand, or must we forever see only the back of his head?"

"Get up," whispered Martha through clenched teeth, and Julio looked over his shoulder. He had only seen her picture once, and she might have been thirty years younger at the time, but it did not matter. Queens did not age, especially not this one, and Julio scrambled to his feet, suddenly entirely too aware of his neck.

"Your majesty," he said, bowing as low as he dared, and hoping the back of his head did not tempt her.

He heard the queen sniff. "Hmm. Doctor Jones, where is Janie?"

"Ah…."

The queen sighed, most exasperated. "And you, Spaniard, what do you call yourself?"

"Julio de Santiago, captain of the _San Salvador_."

"Your ship burned three weeks ago."

"I was aboard it when it did."

"It was a good ship."

"I mourn its loss, and that of my men who died with it."

"Are you our man, or do you belong to the Spanish, captain?"

Julio forgot his place and nearly fell over in his rush to look at her. "Majesty?"

"You did not seem to favor the idea of being a spy, so we think the question appropriate enough. Are you mine or Phillip's? Quickly now, the Doctor owes England a head and it might as well be yours."

"I have no wish to return to Spain," said Julio, and beside him, Martha breathed a sigh of relief. Elizabeth gave a curt nod.

"Very well, then. When this is all over, there may be a ship for you. And you, Doctor Jones, do not look quite so relieved. Did Janie—" The queen faltered for a moment, and Julio saw something flash in her eyes – pain of some kind. "Did she die in the storm?"

"No," said Martha firmly. "She didn't. You can be very sure of that."

It seemed to Julio that Elizabeth nearly slumped in relief then, but she only gave a quick nod. "Your Doctor still owns his head, then," she said. "Captain, with me. Doctor Jones, give the Doctor the message. He will not return to this isle until he can do so with Janie standing next to him. Or we shall allow our men to shoot first, and learn the reason why later."

Martha swallowed. It certainly explained a great deal about the hasty departure she and the Doctor had been forced to make after their time with Shakespeare. "Yes, ma'am," she said as the queen turned and swept away.

Julio looked over his shoulder to the ruins of the Armada on the water. "I should thank him," he said, and Martha shook her head.

"Just go," she told him. "And Julio –"

He waited, his blue eyes sad and lost. Martha wondered if it was the right thing to say, and said it anyway.

"Find it again, won't you? Your faith. It's still a good thing."

Julio held her gaze for a moment before nodding and turning away. Martha watched as he followed the queen past the next hill. He did not look at the water again.


	10. Trust in Time

**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**Chapter Ten: Trust in Time**... Rose recovers the only way she knows how – she goes home.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Trust in Time**

Hours later, Rose still slept. The Doctor and Martha stood by in the medical bay as the nanogenes settled into her body, performing an intricate dance as they pulsated and circled around her. To Martha, it seemed like years before they'd finally lifted away; the Doctor was all too aware that it had taken a full six minutes and 23 seconds before the nanogenes completed their work.

Her blood pressure was normal. Her heart rate was stabilized. Her temperature was a little high, but Martha had assured him that this was normal in pregnant humans. This ought to have given him some comfort at least, but it didn't, because the storm had ended ten hours before, and Rose still slept.

She was in their bedroom now. There was no reason to keep her in the medical bay, and Martha had pronounced her healthy, as far as could be discerned. They had removed Rose's sodden dress and settled her into the bed, and Martha had left the Doctor sitting in a chair to take first watch, intending to dispose of the ruined garment before going to sleep herself.

The Doctor watched Rose sleep, counting every steady breath. He rested his head on clenched fists, or buried his face in open palms, thinking the movement sufficed for exercise. She would sigh in her sleep, but she never spoke or moved or made any sort of indication that she might be near wakefulness. The Doctor did not dare take his eyes off of her.

It was a far cry from the last time he'd stood watch over Rose for such a stretch, when he'd pulled her from the crossroads, caked in blue custard. At the time, he'd been giddy with success, emotions running high, and flush with a fever he now knew was caused by the blue custard already hard at work, altering his physiology. He'd had no doubt that Rose would wake, so he'd talked to her, read to her, even tore himself away from her to make himself tea or work on the TARDIS, pausing every so often to brush her hair away from her face, or just look at her, grinning.

He could not smile now, nor bear to touch her. He could not look away, for fear he would miss a single breath. He did not dare speak, for fear of the words he might say.

He only tried to touch her thoughts once, just after the nanogenes in the medical bay. He reached out to her then, desperate to know if she was well, but every time the edges of his thoughts came near the silvery-turquoise glow that was her, she receded from him, backing away in terror. He didn't think it was fear of him, not necessarily. Just fear of anyone invading her sense of self. Now he waited, watching, unable to touch her in any way that might bring comfort, and if ever a Time Lord prayed, he did then.

He watched her for hours, until the door opened again, and Martha, refreshed and rested, slipped inside. He could hear her footsteps as Martha approached the bed and felt for Rose's pulse, habit taking precedence before any faith in Rose's watch.

"Hello, Rose," she said softly, setting Rose's arm back down. Martha turned to the Doctor, the worry evident in her eyes. "Doctor, I'm here. You should rest."

"Don't need it," said the Doctor. The exhaustion and hard edges in his voice surprised him, but Martha didn't even blink.

"You've been sitting for ten hours now, and I've slept and eaten. I also happen to know that Rose was reading the baby book I'd brought her, so I have every intention of reading it to her. Unless you want to hear about the gruesome details of human pregnancy, Doctor, I suggest you go elsewhere."

"I want to be here when she wakes."

Martha sighed. "She won't wake for a while, Doctor. The nanogenes worked on her for a long time, and they might have healed her and the baby, but she'll still have a lot of recovery to do. The nanogenes did what they could – but the rest is up to her."

"They should have healed her completely," said the Doctor.

"Maybe they're past their expiration date," snapped Martha. "Look, I don't care if you sleep or eat or run laps. But Doctor, please – at least get out of that chair."

The Doctor didn't move.

"You could program the TARDIS to go home, you know."

He glanced at Martha then. "She's three weeks further along. We're too close to the baby's danger zone."

"I don't know," said Martha slowly. "I've been thinking – when you talked to Rose, after the _San Salvador_ exploded – she was frantic, yeah? And we followed that phone call to here, three weeks later. Which means that's where Rose already was. I think the Demuti skipped her three weeks ahead. I don't think she's more than three days further along than when we last saw her."

The Doctor scrutinized Rose's face for a moment before looking up at Martha's sharply. "If you're wrong—"

"Then there's still about a week leeway," said Martha coolly. "The books said it was dangerous, yeah, but not fatal. Not until much later. You make it quick and smooth and do it absolutely right – and I think she and the baby will be fine."

The Doctor leaned forward to the bed, hovering over Rose. Her breathing was still even – she was just slightly warm to his touch – she could have been sleeping peacefully for all he knew. Somewhere in her, their baby still grew, every second building another block to being a full-grown child. His thoughts, now hesitant, reached toward her again, to the silver-turquoise that still shimmered just as strongly, just as frightened as before.

"Rose," he whispered, just once, and he thought he saw her eyelids flicker, just a little. He smiled; it was the first real movement he'd seen since watching her collapse on the ship. "I'll be right back."

He stood and looked at Martha for a moment. "If you're right—"

"Name the baby after me," said Martha. He left the room in long strides, and five minutes later, half a page into chapter four, Martha heard the familiar _whoosh whoosh_. She took a minute to grin, and grasped Rose's hand in hers.

"Bloody stubborn Time Lord," she whispered. "Wake up soon, yeah? Because you are _not_ allowed to sleep through every chapter of this book."

Martha managed to keep reading through the Time Vortex, through re-entry, through landing. She read as the Doctor re-entered the room, and didn't even hesitate when he crawled into the bed beside Rose, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to him. She read until her voice began to ache, and her eyelids grew heavy. She read as the TARDIS began to dim the lights, and she was still reading the last few words as the book slipped from her hands to her lap, and her head fell forward, fast asleep.

* * *

Rose walked.

The path stretched for miles ahead of her and miles behind, the bright blue gravel crunching beneath her feet as she kept up a steady pace. Rose wasn't sure what lay on either side of the path; the horizon stretched to a beige blank nothing, and besides, Rose kept her focus squarely ahead of her, not quite seeing. The wind whistled but did not touch her. She could smell dust in the air but her skin felt clean. She could hear voices, dimly, but saw no one.

…_we have taken for a greater cause…_

…_I doubt that…_

Rose frowned, almost recognizing the voice. It made her stomach flutter. Still, she walked.

_...she is not so innocent…she will leave you in the end…_

…_I'm sure she will…_

Rose's breath caught. She knew the second voice, she was certain of it. Just hearing it made something twist inside. Her chest pounded and her blood quickened, and Rose picked up her pace. The voices seemed to come from just ahead of her – perhaps when she reached them, she would know whose they were.

The path was narrowing, and Rose was careful to stay firmly on it. She wasn't sure what would happen if she stepped off, but it couldn't have been a good idea, not when the gravel made that lovely crunching sound, not when the voices were coaxing her forward.

She wondered why, if the second voice was so familiar to her, so instantly comforting, it was also so certain she would leave in the end. She would be sure to ask it, when she found it. _If_ she found it – Rose was oddly tired. She thought she might have walked the path for years, but she couldn't really remember them.

Then the path split.

Rose stood, her muscles aching with the sudden halt in movement. Her entire body was anxious to continue, but she stood, looking from one path to the other, waiting, uncertain. She had to remain on a path – she knew this, there was no other choice. But which path? Where was that voice she was following? The paths looked exactly the same to her, stretching into nothingness on ahead, blue and lonely.

Rose waited, hoping to hear the voice again.

She could hear the wind whistle, but the air was still. Every moment she did not move, her body ached, the muscles tensing and releasing with the strain of remaining in one place. Rose could not last much longer, standing there – something in her would break. She could feel it happening already, her entire body cracking and falling to pieces from indecision, but she kept herself still, hoping for some sort of indication which path to follow.

…_Rose…_

A different voice – softer, higher, filled with longing and resigned with acceptance. Rose turned down the left path and followed it.

* * *

Jackie Tyler woke early, convinced she'd heard someone calling her name.

It wasn't Pete, who remained asleep beside her. It wasn't the twins, who hadn't called out for her in years. Jackie sat straight up in bed for half a minute before deciding it was her imagination, and settled back onto her pillow.

"_Mum_..."

She was up like a shot now, shoving the blankets aside and reaching for her robe. The sun hadn't even risen yet, and there was sure to be dew on the grass, but Jackie had no doubt that she was meant to follow the voice. Into the garden, past the grounds, across England if necessary, but Jackie was following it.

"Jacks?"

"Hush, Pete, I'll be only a minute," said Jackie automatically. "Go back to sleep."

"Is it Rose?" he mumbled. "Tell her hello."

Jackie paused at the door, staring at her husband for half a moment. "I will," she managed to say, before realizing he was already asleep, and she shut the door behind her.

There _was_ dew on the grass, but Jackie had forgotten her slippers. She didn't care. The damp soaked the bottom of her pajama pants as she walked through the grass to the far end of the garden. She hadn't heard anything since first waking, but it didn't seem to matter. Without knowing how, Jackie had a very good idea where she was meant to go, and she wrapped her robe around her tighter as she approached the small pond, noting that someone was sitting on the bench overlooking it. There was an ache in the pit of her stomach, and Jackie found it hard to breathe. She didn't dare look at the face of the person; she simply approached the bench and sat down.

"I'm not sure how I got here," said Rose. "I – I'm not sure I'm even _here_."

"What do you remember?" asked Jackie, surprised how calm she sounded. She still couldn't look at her daughter.

"I'm not sure – I think I was on a ship. A real ship, on water. Surrounded by pirates. It sounds like some stupid Saturday adventure film. And now I'm sitting in Pete's garden. I think. I don't remember a pond."

"School project of Donald's – he wanted to see if goldfish could survive outdoors."

"Can they?"

"Not in January, no."

"Mum—"

Jackie turned to Rose, unable to keep her eyes away any longer. Her daughter was just the same as she remembered her – hair a bit of a mess, and perhaps her eyes were red from crying, but she was still young and lovely. Jackie watched as Rose glanced to her as well, and she saw the momentary shock in Rose's young eyes.

"Hair's gone a bit greyer," said Jackie. "But I've lost half a stone, what do you think?"

"You look wonderful," said Rose. "Pictures don't do you justice."

"Go on with you." Jackie was pleased anyway, and reached for Rose's hand. "Is it—"

"I don't know," said Rose, just as curious, and they watched as their hands moved closer together, but they both stopped before contact was made. "I think – I think I might be dying, Mum."

Jackie's heart stopped. She looked up to her daughter's face, but Rose was no longer looking back at her. The pain was written in the way Rose wrapped her hands around the edge of the bench, her back concave. Jackie could not think of a word to say.

"The sailors – they wanted something from me. I think they killed me to get it. I think that's why I'm able to come here. Unless – am I dreaming?"

"No," said Jackie. "You're really here."

"There so much I didn't tell you, Mum. I didn't want to tell you before, and I won't get a chance to tell you again. I'm pregnant."

Jackie hadn't realized her heart had begun beating again, and now it leapt from her chest to her throat. There was nothing – _nothing_ – more she wanted in the world at that moment than to wrap her arms around Rose. To touch her hair and kiss her on the cheek and tell her it would all be all right. Jackie hadn't thought she would hear such good news immediately after hearing of her daughter's imminent death, but found the idea of a baby overwhelmed everything else – which was how it should be. The strain of keeping away from her daughter filled her voice so completely that Jackie wasn't sure how happy she sounded, and if she couldn't touch Rose, she didn't want there to be any mistake. "Oh, _Rose_!" she whispered. "My baby—"

Rose glanced up shyly. "I wanted so _badly_ to be able to tell you. I don't think the Doctor understood how unfair it was that I couldn't."

"A baby. Oh, sweetheart – how far along are you?" The excitement was there – Jackie could hear it. And when she saw Rose begin to smile, resting a hand on her stomach, it gave her hope that perhaps Rose felt it too..

"A month, maybe? But we think the baby won't be born for over a year – alien and all that. Martha is going to keep a close eye."

"Good, I'm glad. About Martha, that is – a year of pregnancy for you won't be any fun at all. You'll send me pictures the whole way, won't you? And I want to know the moment the baby's born." Jackie laughed. "Think, I'll be a grandmother. At least I have four years to get used to the idea."

Rose stilled, her eyes opening in shock. Jackie clenched her hands to keep them from resting them on her daughter's arm. "Mum?"

"That's about how the times move, isn't it?" continued Jackie. "A year for you, four or five for me? We won't tell Pete – men are always impossible, he'll be asking on a weekly basis if the baby's born yet. The man can't tell time even with twenty watches strapped to his wrist."

"How did you know?" demanded Rose. "I didn't ever want to tell you."

"Mickey, of course," said Jackie. "We realized it when he was so confused a few years ago, thinking you'd been here longer. Of course, we should have thought of it before, what with him living here for three years before we showed up. How long have you been with the Doctor now, Rose?"

"Two years."

"Nine years for me." Jackie smiled and reached for Rose's hand again, but stopped just short. "Oh, you don't know how good it is, to see you looking so young. Time moves so quickly, doesn't it? But you – you'll never age for me. Whenever I think of you, it's just as you are now. Young and beautiful and so full of life – and _alive_. I watch Molly and Donald getting older day by day, and it's such a wonder to see them grow up and become their own people, but _you_, Rose – you're changing in such different ways. You're going to live forever. And part of me will live forever with you."

"Mum – I'm _dying_," said Rose, nearly choking.

Jackie shook her head. "No, I don't think so. The Doctor would never allow it."

"Why else would I be here?"

"Oh, goodness, I've never understood anything the Doctor does for you," said Jackie frankly. "But I'll tell you this, Rose, I trust him. Maybe I didn't at first, but I do now. He'll take care of you. That's what he's always done, when it comes to you. I think you saw a chance to tell me what you've wanted to tell me, and you took it. That's what you've always done, when it comes to the Doctor – take a chance on some impossible thing, and goodness knows, the Doctor told me it was impossible for you to return here. Yet here you sit on the bench next to Donald's pond."

"Mum—"

"Are you happy with him, Rose?"

Rose didn't answer right away. "There's things he hasn't told me."

"I suspect there's things you haven't told him."

"Something happened while I was away. Something awful, and he hasn't ever said a word."

"I can't imagine he'd want to tell you, if it was so awful," reasoned Jackie, and Rose closed her eyes. "He loves you. He wants to protect you."

"Wrap me in cotton wool."

"I can understand the feeling."

"No wonder you never liked him, you're one and the same."

Jackie straightened. "Oi, take that back!"

Rose laughed, and Jackie's heart soared to hear it.

"Choose to go back to him, love," said Jackie.

Rose's eyes blinked open, shocked. "But – I don't know if I'll be able to see you again."

"Your place is with him, not me, sweetheart," Jackie replied, but it was hard. "I'm selfish enough to keep you here – but what's the point of a bird locked in a cage?"

Rose was about to speak, and then she stilled, her eyes going wide. She rested her other hand to her stomach, cradling it, and her mouth dropped open. "Mum," she gasped. "I felt it. I think. A fluttering."

Jackie reached her hands out to hover over Rose's, her face breaking into pure joy. "Did you?"

Rose began to laugh. "I think so. I didn't think – so early—"

Jackie saw the joy break over her daughter. "Only a matter of time before he dances on your kidneys."

"Yeah." Rose rubbed her stomach thoughtfully. "I have to go back."

Jackie swallowed and found it hard going. "I know."

"Is it – really okay? Me going back to him?"

"Don't ask stupid questions," said Jackie thickly. "Remember what I told you before?"

"A strange woman walking around a marketplace a billion miles from earth," Rose remembered, and Jackie blinked.

"I didn't mean that – but yeah. Only not so strange. All children change, Rose – even if you were still here, you'd change. There would be a day when I wouldn't quite recognize you. What's the point of changing, if you're changing into something you don't want to be?"

"Mum—"

"You belong with him. This baby, too. You run right back to the Doctor, Rose. And you call me when you get there. That's all I ask."

"Mum, I—"

"_Mummy_!"

Both women on the bench sat up a little, and looked behind them. The sun was just rising now, casting golden yellow light onto the grass, and they could see a little girl running across the garden, tumbling toward the pond. Rose's breath caught as the girl stumbled a little, nearly fell, then picked herself back up again and kept running.

"Molly?"

The girl skidded to a stop near one of the rose bushes, and buried her nose in the blooms, completely forgetting her original destination. Jackie laughed.

"She'd be distracted by a junebug if it caught her fancy. Reminds me of the Doctor, sometimes, she does. And such a gob on her, she'd give him a run for his money, make no mistake. Rose—"

Jackie turned back to her elder daughter – but found the bench empty. Her breath caught, and she patted the now empty space. It was just a bit warmer than the rest, and the tears that had filled her eyes all morning began to spill over.

"Mummy, who was that?" Molly draped herself over the back of the bench, having finally pulled herself away from the rose bush, and Jackie leaned over to kiss her.

"Did you see her, then? It was your older sister, Rose."

"Oh," said Molly. "She didn't stay very long."

"No, I expect she couldn't. But she'll ring in a day or so, and you can talk to her then."

"I wanted to show her my treehouse." Molly crawled over the back of the bench and plopped herself next to Jackie, snuggling up to her comfortably.

"She would have liked to see it," said Jackie softly, resting her chin on Molly's dark blonde head. The girl wasn't Rose – would never be Rose – but she was herself, and Jackie couldn't think of another person who she wanted to hold more just then. "We'll send her a picture, yeah?"

"Yeah," said Molly, content, and knowing it was needed, gave her mother another squeeze.


	11. Time to Wake

**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**Epilogue: Time to Wake**... Everyone wakes up sometime, whether you dream or not.

* * *

**Epilogue: Time to Wake**

Rose woke to the quiet sound of the TARDIS humming, which sounded pleased as soon as the ship realized she was awake. It took a moment to think of where she was, to realize she was held by the sleeping Doctor, with the sleeping Martha sitting on a chair nearby. She wanted to touch her stomach, but didn't dare move for fear of waking either of them, so instead she closed her eyes, wondering if she could move backward to be with her mother again.

Dimly, she thought she could see a blue gravel path behind her – or at least, sense that it was there, sitting just a few minutes behind, but already the path was hazy and falling further out of focus. Rose almost considering racing back after it, but there was a rustling sound, and she opened her eyes again.

Martha was awake and leaning over her. She broke into a grin as Rose opened her eyes. "Hello," Martha whispered, barely making any sort of sound.

"Hello," replied Rose, and the Doctor shifted in his sleep.

Martha quickly felt for Rose's blood pressure, and counted under her breath, before smiling at her patient. "Welcome back."

"What happened?"

"Oh, the Doctor saved the day, as usual. I helped. Julio's sitting on Elizabeth's court now – I looked him up on the TARDIS computer, he ends up with an estate in Cornwall and marries one of her ladies-in-waiting. What do you think of that?"

Rose smiled. "Thought I had a chance with him."

"He named his first daughter Rose, if that helps. Expect you're hungry," said Martha. "Tea and soup?"

"A sandwich?" asked Rose hopefully. "Prawn mayo? And chips?"

"If it's there," conceded Martha. She stood up to go – then impulsively bent over again and kissed Rose on the forehead. "I really am glad you're awake, Rose."

Rose watched Martha hurry out of the room. All right, perhaps Martha _did_ like her, as the Doctor insisted. Martha seemed to think she was all right, and not terribly near death – so perhaps she wasn't going to die, after all. Rose slipped her hand down to her stomach, where she could feel the fluttering anew. Without a doubt, Rose knew the baby was there, in a way she hadn't quite realized before. It was real, all of it, the baby and the man laying next to her on the bed. Rose suddenly realized why the Doctor was so anxious to wrap her in cotton wool – the idea that either of them could be taken from her made Rose nearly lose her breath.

In just a year, she'd be a mother. She had the proof fluttering below her fingertips, so gentle, those same fingers couldn't even feel it. But it was there all the same, just for her.

Rose turned her head to the Doctor, about to whisper him awake as she couldn't wait another moment to speak to him, and found the Doctor already looking back at her with eyes open.

"Hello," he said softly.

"I felt the baby move," she whispered back, and his eyes widened. His hand quickly covered hers on her stomach, but after that he went completely still.

"I can't feel it."

"I can hardly feel it – just like a flutter."

"But it woke you up—"

"No," said Rose. "_I_ woke me up. I wanted to wake up. Mum said I should—"

"Jackie?" The Doctor pushed himself up. "How long have I been asleep, that you rung your mother already?"

Rose laughed. "No – I saw her. I was with her, in Pete's garden, and that's when I felt the baby move."

The Doctor frowned. "How did you get to Pete's garden?"

"I walked. I think I walked – I remember walking. There was a path, and it split off in two, and I went on one side, and there was Mum. But it wasn't right – I was supposed to go down the other path, so I left her and came back to you."

The Doctor picked up her hand then, and kissed it. "You must have been dreaming."

"She knows – my mum, I mean, she knows that time is moving faster for her. She said it was okay. And I told her about the baby."

"Rose," began the Doctor again, but Rose cut him off.

"I wasn't dreaming, Doctor. I was sitting there. I saw Molly racing down the garden. There's a pond that Donald made for a school project. I walked to my mother, Doctor – and then I walked home to you."

He kissed her hand again. "To me?"

"Well, it was hardly to Martha."

"You chose me."

Rose shook her head. "Bloody daft Doctor."

He settled down again, resting his chin against her shoulder, and she let her eyes close. Perhaps it was the baby – perhaps it was the part where she nearly died, but she was still exhausted. And hungry. Martha wasn't being half slow with the sandwiches.

"Doctor," she murmured. "You ask Mum, if you don't believe me. She'll tell you."

"I believe you," replied the Doctor as he nuzzled her. "Go back to sleep."

"You know that I trust you, don't you?"

"I know."

"I'm not afraid of forever anymore."

"Course not," said the Doctor. "You've got me and baby to share it with, and your mum is just on the other path."

"I don't know if I can find the path again, though," said Rose with a yawn, thinking that she might doze until Martha returned with sandwiches.

"Nothing to it – we'll look behind every bush on every planet," said the Doctor. "What did it look like?"

"Just a path in the middle of nothingness. Nothing ahead, nothing behind. And then it split, off one way and off another," said Rose, closing her eyes.

The Doctor stilled. "Like a fork in the road?"

"Like the poem," agreed Rose. "All laid out in bright blue gravel."

Rose fell asleep, but the Doctor remained awake, his mouth slack against her shoulder.

_Like a fork in the road...all laid out in bright blue gravel._

A fork in the road…a crossroads.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around Rose, and pulled her just a bit closer. She sighed and turned her face toward him, waking only enough to murmur something unintelligible. He kissed her forehead absently, and began to think. Twenty minutes later, he was still hard at thinking, and never heard Martha return with the tea.

_The Doctor and Rose_

_will return_

_in Part Four of the Crossroads series:_

**A Blue Gravel Path**


	12. Notice

I apologize for the delay. The fourth part of the Crossroads series, titled A Blue Gravel Path, is now being uploaded and can be found on my profile page. I know it's been nearly two years since the last update, and I hope you take a chance to come back to find out what happened to the Doctor, Rose Tyler, and their children. Thank you!


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